Starting From Scratch
by JadeSullivan
Summary: During the summer of Harry's third year, Sirius is granted permission to look after his godson. Together, they struggle to find a balance between friendship and guardianship.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: Sirius/Harry guardian story; AU; takes places the summer after Harry's third year (post PoA).**

**Story Notes: _Starting From Scratch_ will contain two scenes of parental corporal punishment (spanking), namely in chapters 1 and 13. Both Sirius and Harry are far from perfect in this story; they will both make mistakes and eventually will learn from them. I approach Sirius' character from both Gary Oldman's portrayal and my own perception of him. Even though Sirius had his moments, I always believed that he would have stepped up to his parental role if he would have had the chance to be Harry's guardian. That said, I hope you will enjoy my portrayal of him :-)**

* * *

_Starting From Scratch_

By JadeSullivan

It had been one month and six days at the end of Harry Potter's third year at Hogwarts since Sirius Black had nonchalantly danced over the prospect of Harry coming to live with him.

Sirius hadn't risked a glance at Harry after he'd asked the boy but remembered sensing his godson perk up at the words. At the time, Sirius wasn't sure whether or not Harry was horrified or elated, but two weeks later, with Dumbledore's permission, Harry Potter rolled his heavy trunk over the threshold of Sirius's new residence, a rather large cabin—protected and prepared by the headmaster—planted among dozens of thick pine trees in the hills of Edinburgh.

Now, Sirius found his godson's excitement reassuring and comically contagious. He smiled as he felt the nervous tightness in his stomach ebbing away. Sirius knew he and Harry would be very happy here.

But twenty days had passed.

And although Harry and his godfather got along rather well, Sirius often felt increasingly annoyed at the boy's carelessness. True, they were safe among the wards, and Dumbledore had been able to prove Sirus's innocence in front of the Wizengamot. But they were in a new area, the wards hadn't been tested, and Sirius felt that the rambunctious thirteen-year-old needed to be careful about being seen and wandering aimlessly among the grounds.

Sirius wasn't big on rules.

In fact, he hadn't given his godson any—not even a bedtime. Part of him sympathized with Harry's teenaged self. He'd been one too, after all. But a larger part of Sirius felt a spark of fatherly protection for Harry. As much as he loathed succumbing to the monotony of a middle-aged life, he already cared for his godson enough to brush aside the occasional reckless urges that threatened to overcome him.

Only two or three months ago, that would have never happened.

* * *

It was around one o'clock in the afternoon on a bleak, blustery Thursday when Sirius returned to the cabin. Much to the man's surprise and confusion, he found the house empty. The silence was so heavy that it pounded in Sirius's ears, thick and almost tangible.

"Where is he?" Sirius muttered outloud to no one in particular before igniting a blazing fire, counting on the crackling whisper of the burning logs to cut through the silence. He could have cared less about the heat.

Sirius had Floo'd to Remus's about an hour and forty minutes ago, giving Harry instructions to stay in the house.

His godson had woken up in an extremely foul mood and had possessed an attitude since he dragged himself to the breakfast table, hair sticking up every which way and his pajama bottoms rumpled and baggy. The pink wrinkles and imprints on his bare stomach spoke of a restless sleep. Sirius couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of him.

"Nice hair," he'd quipped but decided not to test his sarcasm any further as it was still early in the morning. Harry's scowl and pinched eyebrows were accompanied by a blank green stare that he kept aiming towards his godfather for the next half-hour.

Breakfast was quiet, and Harry had wriggled away when Sirius had tried to feel his cheeks for fever. But halfway through his cereal, Harry had straightened up with a sudden idea. He wanted to test out his Firebolt.

Sirius hadn't allowed Harry to go flying since they had come to Edinburgh, as he hadn't had a chance (or received approval from Dumbledore) to survey the surrounding area for muggles and other potential hazards.

It's not that he didn't trust Harry. But if the boy was anything like his father, James—and Sirius was noticing the feisty resemblance more and more—Harry would have a hard time staying within the boundaries once he'd experienced the exhilarating freedom of soaring on his Firebolt.

Breakfast had ended in an annoying argument, with Sirius telling Harry to "quit acting like a five year old," and Harry telling Sirius to "stuff it." Without a word, the boy had pushed his plate away and stomped back up the stairs.

Sirius' face had burned, and he was actually speechless for once as he listened to Harry pad up the wooden steps. During Sirius's childhood, his own parents hadn't really paid much attention to his behavior, good or bad. However, James' parents had kept him accountable, especially after he'd left home and come to live with the Potters. If he'd have spoken like that to James' father, Sirius would have expected the disgusting aftertaste of ivory soap after a good mouth-lathering.

But Sirius had yet to discipline Harry in any way, and the boy had left before Sirius could react. Did parents still wash out smart mouths?

Maybe Harry was only joking. He did that sometimes. But the boy had never told him to _stuff it_ before. And Sirius had to admit...that hurt.

In all honesty, the boy was usually fun to be around and well-behaved, for the most part. However, lately Harry seemed to be testing the waters, and Sirius wasn't sure how to reel him back in.

So far, he'd done nothing.

It was at this moment when Sirius decided to visit his old friend Remus and ask for some advice. After all, Remus Lupin had been Harry's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this past year. He had more experience with children than Sirius did. Before Sirius left, he knocked on Harry's door and informed his godson that he'd be back in an hour or two.

"You need to stay put," Sirius had informed him after mustering up all his sternness. "And get some more sleep. You're in a horrible mood..."

Harry turned over on his stomach and smashed a pillow over the top of his head.

"Whatever." The grumbling voice was small and muffled among the fluff.

Sirius stared. "What's the _matter_ with you this morning??"

Silence from the bundle of blankets.

"All right, then," Sirius said with a sigh. "I'll be back."

No answer.

_What the bloody hell is wrong with that kid?_ he thought as he closed Harry's bedroom door and headed downstairs to the Floo.

* * *

Remus Lupin sat slumped over his morning newspaper, warming his hands around a mug of strong, fragrant coffee, breaking contact with the heated ceramic every so often to slowly turn the pages of The Daily Prophet. He was perusing an article about the prospect of tightening the security at the wizard bank, Gringott's, when he heard a distant _whoosh_ echo through the sitting room a few doors away.

Lifting the mug once again to sip, Remus looked over the rim at the slightly frazzled figure of his best friend, Sirius Black, as the dark-haired wizard sauntered into the small kitchen.

Ever since Sirius had returned from Azkaban, he'd spent a considerable amount of time with his childhood pal. The two consistently popped in and out of each other's fireplace, knowing an invitation wasn't necessary.

Sirius gave his friend a half-smile and briefly lifted his eyebrows.

"Any good reads this morning?" Sirius stated as he grasped the top of a wooden chair, scraped it back, and sat heavily, dropping his folded hands onto the top of the table.

He stared at his laced fingers thoughtfully for a moment before making a casual effort to lock his eyes with those of Remus.

"Not really, unless you find the paranoia of goblins amusing," Remus chuckled as he surveyed the awkward movements of his friend.

Sirius gave a heavy sigh and shifted a bit in his chair, slumping and crossing his ankles under the table.

"What is it, Padfoot?" Remus inquired gently, recognizing Sirius's silence and lack of humor as a sign that something must be weighing heavily on his friend's chest.

"What?" Sirius glanced up sharply as if he'd been startled out of a daydream. "Oh, it's nothing. Just got into a bit of a tiff with Harry is all." Sirius had gone back to focusing on his restless hands that still lay upon the table.

"Ah," Remus nodded knowingly, "Thirteen is a difficult age. You remember, don't you?" Remus delivered the latter as more of a statement rather than a question.

"I suppose. But I don't recall ever dragging myself about the house for days on end with an attitude like that.

"Like what?" Remus asked, genuinely interested.

Sirius looked up from the table again, but this time he shifted himself out of his slump and leaned forward with furrowed brows, resting on his forearms.

"Harry's a wonderful kid, but he's got a smart mouth. He's always got his defenses up. And he completely disregards his own safety! He's not careful at all. That's what really bothers me…" Sirius continued, shaking his head. "Has he _always_ been like this, or do you think he's just gotten too comfortable with me?"

Remus smiled in a soft, knowing way. "He's a handful, Sirius. Even I ended up scolding him last year about his knack for trouble..."

Tapping his thumbs together, Sirius twisted his mouth in thought. He didn't say anything.

"So what happened after the argument? Who started it, anyway? Remus questioned casually.

Sirius relaxed back into his chair once again. "I don't remember who started it. I don't think he slept very well. But what do you mean, _what happened_? Sirius asked with a frown.

Remus gave his friend another gentle smile and tried a different approach.

"I assume Harry was a bit rude again. How did you handle it?"

_Handle it?_

"I…well…didn't, really. He stomped back up to his room and threw himself under the covers before I could say anything," Sirius stated, looking intently at Remus. "But I _did_ tell him to stay put. That he couldn't come along to visit," Sirius quickly continued as he watched Remus's sandy brow rise ever so slightly.

"And…"

"And what?"

"Did he obey?"

"Well," Sirius said slowly, staring at the table top. "He did, yes. He just...got a few words in before I left."

Remus raised both brows this time. "And you left it at that?"

"I... What?" Sirius glanced up.

Taking a measured sip from his cup, Remus set it down gently, swallowing audibly before proceeding. "Harry's just a boy, Sirius. If he's being disrespectful, he shouldn't get the last word. He knows better than that, I believe..."

Sirius pressed his lips together. He knew he should have spoken to Harry about his behavior. Perhaps punished him. But what could he do? Harry didn't act like this _all_ of the time. And to be honest, Sirius didn't know much about discipline…not really. Of course he remembered being punished as a boy when he stepped too far out of line. James' father had corrected him many times as he had his own son.

But could he really punish his godson? He wanted Harry to like him…and to respect him at the same time. He just wasn't sure how to accomplish that.

"You know," Remus said, startling Sirius out of his thoughts, "there was always one thing that kept me out of trouble and snuffed my attitude for quite some time. You too. And James."

Yes, Sirius knew. He'd had his rear end tanned more than once growing up during the summer hols when he'd stayed with the Potters. He and James both had. And to be honest, as a teenager, the memory and looming threat of that distinct, dull ache in his bum really did help control his temper and cause him to think twice before running into trouble.

And it's not as if Sirius didn't respect James' dad. In fact, Sirius would even admit that he loved him. More than his own father.

"You have a point," Sirius claimed, though he definitely wasn't confident in his ability to dole out a spanking. He had a hard enough time just scolding his godson. "But he's a bit old, isn't he?"

Remus shrugged and lifted an eyebrow as if to say _when words fail... _

"He needs boundaries, Sirius. He's still young."

"What if I took away his Firebolt for a while?" Sirius suggested. "He can earn it back."

"You could," Remus agreed with a single nod. "Though he doesn't have access to it presently, correct?"

"He can stay up in his room for a while, then."

"He's in his room now... with an attitude, it sounds like."

"He'll hate me," Sirius murmured desolately. He rubbed at his eyebrows with his thumb and forefinger.

"For a while, maybe..."

Sighing and slapping his palm lightly on the table, Sirius' flashed his best friend a drawn and pleading look. "We'll see how it goes."

"He's your godson."

"He certainly is."

Remus wrinkled his own brow as he surveyed the conflicted cloud settling over his friend's dark eyes, "You could always try talking with Harry when you Floo back home. You never know. He's changing and may just need someone to confide in. That helps too, you remember."

"Yes...it does," Sirius agreed, a small smile softening the stormy façade of the man for the first time that morning.

* * *

It had been almost forty-five minutes since Sirius had Floo'd back to the comfort of the two-story cabin. And Harry was still nowhere to be found. The man had checked Harry's bedroom, the lavatory, the backyard—everywhere, really.

Sirius feverishly scoured the house for a note of some sort, recalling the agreement they had reached about making sure one always knew where the other ran off to. It was, in a way, the first unofficial "rule", though it was never labeled as such. Harry had been adamant about keeping Sirius close by, it seemed. And to be honest, for Sirius, the feeling was mutual. So why would the boy leave without permission _now_?

Forty-eight minutes.

_Okay, don't panic, _Sirius inwardly advised himself.

But he couldn't seem to repress the icicles of fear forming in his stomach. Although Sirius didn't really want to bother him, he was dangerously close to floo'ing the headmaster

Suddenly he heard the back door to the kitchen creek open and click shut.

Jogging slightly, Sirius reached the entrance to the kitchen to find a windblown Harry, standing stock-still by the pantry. The strings of the boy's light-blue, hooded sweatshirt were strewn over his shoulders, his cheeks rosy.

Sirius followed Harry's eyes as they wandered briefly over to the handle of the broomstick clutched tightly in his pale hand and back to his godfather…a bit warily, Sirius was pleased to note.

_Well good_, Sirius thought, _at least he has a bit of a conscience_.

"Er…hey, Sirius," Harry said, and then bit his lip.

Not receiving an answer, the thirteen-year-old sauntered over to the cupboard and quickly returned his Firebolt to where he had obviously retrieved it a couple hours prior. He made his way slowly over to stand in front of his bewildered godfather, still biting his lip, and stood leaning with one palm flat against the table top. He tucked the other into the back pocket of his jeans.

Sirius's face burned again. He wondered if he looked as hurt as he felt but forced himself to remember Remus' words and Harry's actions—his bloody…_disobedience_. Honestly, his godson had some nerve!

Harry shifted uncomfortably in the silence.

"Was that fun?"

The boy's tongue peeked out for a second, wetting his dry lips. "Look, Sirius, I didn't-"

"Not another word," Sirius interrupted quietly, but firmly, "I don't want to hear it." His face felt like it had been pulled tight by strings.

"But…I mean…just listen a minute…" Harry tried but was cut off once again as Sirius raised a hand to silence him.

"You need to go up to your room."

Harry pressed his lips together and looked at his godfather strangely. Sirius wasn't really sure how to classify a look like that. Anger? Embarrassment? He couldn't tell.

"Harry, go _now_," Sirius exclaimed when the boy didn't move, the imperious tone sounding unfamiliar in his own voice.

Sirius watched as Harry climbed the stairs, his sweaty hand squeaking along the polished wooden railing. When the shoelace of Harry's trainer disappeared past the top step, Sirius sat down heavily at the kitchen table, his face in his hands.

_Merlin's pants_, he thought, _why now_? Remus must be a bloody Seer.

Sirius closed his eyes and sighed. The disappointment and hurt throbbed through his stomach. He face began to flush with anger. And he tried his best to focus on the last emotion, as it sustained his stern demeanor. He'd given Harry instructions _not_ to go flying until he had a chance to check out the area. Yes, he definitely had. What was his godson thinking? Testing the waters again, obviously. Probably to see what sort of reaction he'd get. How could Harry be so foolish? So careless…

As Sirius's thoughts strayed to his godson's well-being, he straightened himself up and toughened his expression.

Taking a deep breath, he stood up and made his way toward the stairs.

* * *

Harry lay back on his bed, his head propped up by several feather-stuffed pillows. His folded hands rested lightly on his chest.

The boy sighed and felt his stomach tense a bit.

Harry was overwhelmed with emotions. His head was spinning with them. Sirius was going to hate him now. Why had he been so stupid? He was nothing but a worthless prat.

He'd never seen such a stern, sad expression on his godfather's face.

_He's gonna chuck me_, Harry thought miserably, but even as he mourned at the possibility, Harry couldn't repress the anger that throbbed through him, making his heart pound. _Sirius wanted to get away from me this morning. _Harry shook his head slowly against the pillows. _Who could blame him, though? I muck everything up._

Harry heard footsteps on the stairs and sat up a bit, narrowing his gaze, trying hard to focus on the angry part of the whirlwind of feelings coursing through his body. It was easier that way.

There was a brief knock at the door, but Harry didn't bother answering, and Sirius didn't bother waiting.

Sirius closed the door behind him, the same look painted on his face, Harry noticed. The _look_ that made the boy's stomach clench painfully and the tips of his fingers feel icy.

He wanted to apologize but didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to explain why he was feeling so confused and irritated.

Harry watched silently as Sirius scooted the chair out from under the desk, swiveled it around to face his godson, and sat stiffly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"We need to get one thing straight, Harry," Sirius began, his voice quiet and solemn. "I am in charge of you for the summer, and that means that you need to do as I say whether you like it or not. I've been lenient with you, and perhaps that's my fault. But you're taking advantage of me-"

"I'm _not_..."

"Hush."

Harry could see the man's chest rising and falling rapidly. Out of anger? From his trek up the stairs? He wasn't sure. Harry didn't care, really, not at the moment.

"I love having you here," Sirius continued. "But you need to stop with the cheek...and the attitude. I'm the adult, remember..."

The boy let an amused huff escape as he shook his head once again. _Yeah, and_ _adults are all the same_, he thought bitterly.

"You didn't even give me a chance to explain about this morning," Harry claimed, exasperated. He was sitting up now, one leg dangling off the edge of the bed.

"Explain what? There was nothing to explain," Sirius retorted simply, the calm draining from his tone. "You disobeyed me when I gave you specific instructions to not fly on your broom until I said it was okay. It was a safety precaution. Why in the world would you do that, Harry?" The hurt had crept into the man's voice again.

Harry swallowed, clenching his teeth against the pain in his stomach. But he just couldn't shove down the boiling anger. He never could.

As far as Harry was concerned, he'd had enough. Why did everyone treat him like he was so fragile? He was one of the best flyers at Hogwarts. Plus, he'd been in danger before…had gotten past Quirrell and retrieved the Sorcerer's Stone when he was eleven. He'd killed a bloody basilisk, for Merlin's sake! But even Professor Lupin had acted the same way last year when he caught Harry out of bed with the Marauder's Map. Funny, no one seemed to care what he did at the Dursleys…when he wasn't locked in his room, that is. No one even came to see him.

"Okay, fine, so I flew on my broom for no good reason," Harry finally croaked, frowning. "Big, bloody deal… I've already been on my Firebolt loads of times. _You're_ the one who bought it for me, and you didn't think I was too much of a baby then. So why now?"

Harry had no idea what he was trying to say.

However he _was_ aware of the glare that flashed through his godfather's eyes almost immediately. And it made him want to shrink back into the pillows.

"Watch your attitude, Harry," Sirius nearly growled. "I mean it."

Harry swallowed again, willing himself to shut up. But the feelings churned again, and he said it anyway.

"Watch my _attitude? _I don't have a sodding attitude. _You_ do…"

"Oi!" Sirius stiffened in his chair.

Harry dug his fingertips into his jeans. "What?" he demanded. "This isn't an attitude; it's talking—"

"_This_ is not talking."

Harry's face crumpled with annoyance he couldn't seem to bat away. "Yeah, it _is_… You're the one who barged in here and started pissing all over me—"

"Enough." Sirius' voice had gone strangely quiet and rickety. "I'm not going to sit here and listen to you talk to me like that anymore."

"Then _go_," Harry ground out, barely getting a swallow down. His stomach ached like Dudley was sitting on it.

"I'm not going anywhere—"

"Get _out!_" Harry gripped his comforter in both hands. He felt like a madman. What was he _doing?_

_

* * *

_

Sirius bolted out of his chair and made to grab his godson's arms, hovering over him. This had gone far enough. Just as he expected, Harry tried to pull away.

But he was unsuccessful.

"Don't _shout_ at me." Sirius emphasized his command with a stern shake. "Now, _what_ is the matter? Why can't you just talk to me—"

"I don't _want_ to talk!" Harry tugged his arms against Sirius' hold, but the man held steady.

"Well you're about five seconds away from getting your arse warmed, so I suppose it won't matter if you talk or not, will it?"

The words had seeped out from nowhere.

Harry stilled for an instant, staring at Sirius with flared nostrils and a crumpling brow line. His godson looked very young—almost infantile—and somewhat confused. But the moment flashed by too quickly and the gleam in Harry's eyes faded, replaced with rage.

He began flailing again. "Just bugger _off_—"

Sirius was reeling. He'd never felt so disappointed, so…_frustrated…_at least not for quite some time.

The attempt of using his _words_ was indeed failing.

Remus was right.

But Sirius still felt like he was watching someone else tighten his hands around Harry's arms and pull him off the bed. And he definitely felt like it was someone else's hands that were unfastening Harry's jeans, brushing away the boy's protesting fingers. Stumbling back toward the desk chair, Sirius plopped heavily back on the seat and laid Harry face-down across his knees, not allowing himself to think.

Remembering how this was done, Sirius finally tugged down the boy's loose jeans to the tops of his thighs and peeled back his underpants.

He paused a few seconds, using all the courage he had to ignore Harry's embarrassed and strangled squalling. Sirius took a deep breath before raising his right hand high and smacking Harry across his bared bottom.

He instantly felt his godson stiffen and suck in his breath.

Sirius froze as well. All right. He did it.

_Had he actually done it? _

Watching the skin turn pink, Sirius waited for a short moment, feeling guilty and fighting the urge to redress Harry's behind and forget this ever happened. He _knew_ that must have stung.

Sirius waited for the inevitable swearing and flailing he figured was about to commence. But it didn't come.

Harry hadn't moved. Instead, he had ducked his head and squeezed a handful of Sirius' trousers in his right hand. He wasn't in shock _was he_?

_I can't do this, _the man frantically thought. But suddenly, the events of the day came flooding back into Sirius' memory. Harry wasn't in shock. He was attentive. Sirius had _finally_ gotten his godson's undivided attention. Harry deserved this, and he needed to know that he wasn't going to just get away with something like this.

Sirius was reminding himself of that too.

Praying for some sort of inspiration, Sirius held his breath as he raised his hand again.

He didn't lecture in between smacks. Sirius didn't feel it was a necessary means of getting his point across. And besides, it felt unnatural. But without realizing that he was doing it, Sirius kept count in his head as he continued to wallop the small backside steadily.

Harry hadn't made a single noise since the initial gasp. But after a dozen and a half cracks of his palm against the pink rear end, Sirius finally heard a low sob, or rather felt Harry's body jump with the force of it.

Sirius stopped immediately, his hand splayed and stiff as if he'd just pulled it back from a burning stove. He remembered this as the part where James' father usually doled out a final, hefty five. But as Sirius listened to his godson's soft, wracking sobs and mumbled apologies, he knew he couldn't even deliver one.

He was done.

Sirius grimaced as he quietly pulled Harry's pants and jeans back up. Ignoring the button, he maneuvered his hands underneath Harry's arms, lifting the boy up with him as he stood and worriedly sizing up the snotty, flushed face. But after holding the limp figure at arms-length for several long seconds, he pulled a distraught Harry forward and gathered him in a tight embrace.

After all, it's what James' father always did regardless whether he stood rigid as a pole or sagged into the comfort.

Eventually, Harry's hands trailed upwards, and he clung on to Sirius' shoulder blades tightly. Sirius felt the heat from Harry's damp face buried against his chest as his godson quietly sobbed out the rest of his tears.

* * *

Harry continued to apologize brokenly as he hiccoughed into the warm, tear-blotched shirt.

"It's okay. I know you're sorry," Sirius murmured gently as he cradled the boy's head against his chest. "You're okay." He rubbed circles between Harry's shoulder blades to calm him, feeling more confident and protective as each moment passed.

The guilt seemed to have dissolved on its own.

"No, I mean…you-you don't understand…" Harry tried to explain, but was only able to exhale a great _whoosh_ of air as Sirius held him tighter.

"You scared me today, Harry," Sirius words were a bit muffled against the tousled, dark hair. "Do you know what that was like for me when I came back from Remus' and the house was empty? I was so worried. Don't ever do that again."

At these words, Harry lifted his head from his godfather's shoulder and gazed desperately into the man's eyes, searching for what he had once longed to see in Uncle Vernon's but never could.

But he didn't have to search long, because he saw it in Sirius—not just in his eyes but in the gentle way he scratched Harry's back...in the soft lines around his mouth. In everything.

Harry wanted to tell his godfather that he had been afraid. He'd been afraid of returning to the Dursleys and afraid of losing him. And Harry knew that didn't make any sense, but still, that's how he felt.

He wanted to tell Sirius that he didn't know why he risked his life so often, but he wished he could be more thoughtful. Harry wanted to let him know that he had disobeyed because he was so angry at him for leaving him alone for two hours, and he had a hard time controlling that anger sometimes.

Harry also needed to tell Sirius that he was sorry for saying such awful things…that he'd promise to try harder. Try harder to be good.

But Harry's eyes were puffy and sore, and he felt as if he could sleep for hours. His backside still ached and prickled a bit, but for some reason, he felt light and safe in his godfather's arms.

Besides, Harry knew that he didn't need to tell Sirius everything that he was thinking. Not right now, anyway. The warmth in his godfather's eyes spoke of more than understanding.

Sirius smoothed Harry's damp fringe away from his forehead and gently sat him down on the edge of the bed.

"I'll tell you what," Sirius began, crouching down to Harry's eye-level, "this afternoon, I'll contact Dumbledore and take a trip around the grounds to survey the area. If everything looks okay, you can go flying…"

Harry's face brightened.

"…starting Monday, after your Firebolt's been locked away for the weekend."

Harry's face fell slightly.

Sirius smiled but repressed a small chuckle.

"We'll come up with a couple of rules…together…about flying," Sirius continued. "How does that sound?"

"That sounds okay," Harry said through a stuffy nose, grinning softly.

And really...it did.

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

Harry lay back on his bed for the second time that afternoon. Sirius had gone downstairs to check the wards and had strongly suggested that Harry rest until dinner, although in all honesty, after what had taken place during the last half-hour, it didn't take much convincing for Harry to agree to his godfather's proposal.

The boy lounged on his side on top of the heavy quilt that was draped over the bed, his left cheek pressed against the soft pillow as he willed sleep to overtake him. But Harry's mind churned with thoughts.

His eyes were closed, but his brain replayed the day's events repeatedly behind his tired lids as if he were watching a silent Muggle movie.

An irritating heat still buzzed through his behind as he lay quietly, reminding him of his stupidity and the consequences that followed.

Even though he knew he'd deserved it, Harry's face burned from the shame of pushing Sirius far enough to give him a smacking. He'd been testing his godfather—Harry was aware of that too, though he felt rather ignorant of the moody, teenage force that drove him to do _that…_

Uncle Vernon had always been so infuriatingly inconsistent that Harry was used to idle threats. In fact, he'd learned to basically ignore them. Uncle Vernon hardly ever touched him, really. The times he'd dug his fingers into Harry's arm to throw him into his cupboard and bedroom, the man had released his grip with a disgusted look on his face…as if he wanted nothing more than to wipe the filth from his hand.

But Sirius clearly had no reservations about such things, not even when he'd gotten his tears and runny nose all over his godfather's shirt.

And that was another thing…the crying.

The smacks hadn't even hurt all that much, and Harry'd blubbered like a baby, right after he'd scowled at Sirius for treating him like one.

But at least his godfather hadn't poked fun at him for letting the tears drip. Harry couldn't help it. He'd felt awful for acting like such a prat during the past few weeks. He should have just apologized after their argument at breakfast, but at the time, Harry wasn't sure how that was supposed to go.

Now, he'd apologized plenty of times. Harry hoped with all his might that he'd made up for it, because Sirius was brilliant as a godfather. Had he really taken advantage of him?

Attempting to ignore the heat that wouldn't drain from his face, Harry tucked his big toe into the back of one of his socks and pulled it off his foot. He repeated the gesture with the other one and kicked them toward the edge of the bed before settling back into his mattress. Wearing socks during a lie-in seemed as strange to Harry as wearing a hat in the shower.

Flipping his pillow over, he sighed as the cool, smooth surface encased his face.

He was glad that Sirius had hugged him while he cried. Harry hoped it wasn't too babyish, because it had felt really nice. It had made the tears come faster, but eventually, it made him feel loads better.

Besides, it was the first time Harry could remember being held like that by _anyone_. And now, just the memory of it made him feel comfortable and groggy as he wiggled his way underneath the striped quilt and pulled it snugly over his right shoulder.

If Harry was going to focus on one emotion to curb the churning of several, he decided it would be this one. His bum still sort of itched, but the racing thoughts seemed to have slowed. And that was more important anyway.

Taking a deep breath through the cotton of his pillow, Harry's mind clouded pleasantly as his body succumbed to the release of a deep slumber.

* * *

Sirius came in through the same entrance Harry had hours before, closing the door softly in an unconscious effort to avoid disturbing the silence of the cabin.

The weather was unseasonably cold for the end of June, and he rubbed his hands together, blowing a warm gust of air at the tips of his steepled fingers.

Sirius was exhausted, not only from his journey on foot through the thick trees and numerous, small hills around the property, but also from the plethora of emotions that had run wild in his body in the past several hours.

He felt conflicting urges to trudge upstairs and check on his godson and to retreat to his own bedroom and collapse onto his bed for a nap of his own. But Sirius figured that Harry would come down when he was ready.

It was five forty-five in the evening, and they usually ate dinner around six o'clock. The boy's stomach would more than likely act as his alarm clock.

Sirius wasn't exactly sure how Harry would react when he woke up from his nap. After all, his godson was usually a bit moody and sluggish after sleeping, especially in the afternoon.

But already, things seemed different between Harry and him. It was hard to explain, really, but the intangible, slightly nervous tension that had hung in the air over the past few weeks had eased after Sirius and Harry had reconciled the afternoon's event. The boy had gazed into Sirius' eyes so desperately as the tears slipped down his cheeks, that the man could sense that it was more than punishment and shame alone that had released all of Harry's pent-up anger.

Sirius would have to talk to him about that.

Suddenly realizing that it was ten minutes to six, he decided to go into the kitchen and begin warming up some tomato soup and slicing bread for supper. Dumbledore had assigned a house elf to the Edinburgh cabin in order to cook meals for Harry and Sirius, but when Sirius had Floo'd the headmaster to inquire about the safety wards, he had also informed the man that he would like to try cooking on his own for a change.

He appreciated the help, but it felt a bit odd to be waited on after years of being so self-sufficient, even before his twelve year stint in Azkaban. Besides, his sole past experience with a house elf—the Black family elf, Kreacher—had been a wretched one.

But Albus had answered in his static, gentle tone, eyes twinkling:

"Of course, my boy, of course. Bandy is always on stand-by if you require her."

Sirius had thanked Dumbledore before claiming, with a smile, that he and Harry would be _just fine_.

Just as the soup was beginning to bubble on the stove, Sirius heard footsteps on the stairs.

He quickly grabbed the loaf of bread that was shoved toward the back of the counter and began rifling through drawers as if he were searching for a knife.

Sirius wasn't really sure why he felt the need to appear busy all of the sudden. He supposed he was still used to godson's post-sleeping attitude that occasionally threatened to ruin mealtimes.

Maybe Harry would be in a good mood. Or maybe not… He'd just gotten a spanking a few hours ago.

_Merlin help me_, Sirius thought.

Remus certainly didn't give any advice about what to say to a rather chastised thirteen year old _after _he'd bawled and napped and was, now, most likely dragging himself into the kitchen with an injured ego…

Sirius turned away from the counter, his hands still resting on the bread and knife, but his eyes focused on Harry's as the boy shuffled in, still wearing his jeans and hooded sweatshirt. His hair damp around the edges and wild at the back like always. His cheeks still looked flushed from sleep and creased from the pillow's wrinkles.

Sirius searched for something witty to say, but surprisingly, Harry spoke first.

"Hey…" the boy said softly. His voice was still deep and groggy with sleep, but his green eyes held a softness so similar to that of his mother's that Sirius smiled at him, ignoring the tiny pang of sadness that gripped at his stomach.

"Did you sleep well?" Sirius asked gently.

Harry yawned so widely that his eyes squeezed shut and then nodded.

"Mmm-hmm," he agreed.

"Looks like it," Sirius stated with the smallest of chuckles. "You've got lines on your cheeks, did you know?"

Harry smoothed his fingertips over the blotchy-pink skin under his eyes and shrugged. A half-smile crawled onto his lips like the bit of sun that always peeked out after a storm. "I was really tired, I guess…"

Yes, they were going to be fine.

"Are you hungry yet?" Sirius gestured toward the fragrant pot of soup on the stove. "I know you don't have an appetite when you first wake up. Your dad was the same way."

Harry's smile grew. He loved it when Sirius talked about his father. His mother too. Each and every fragment of information about James and Lily made the idea of his parents increasingly realistic.

"No…I think I could eat something," Harry told him as he pulled back a kitchen chair, briefly stretched his arms over his head, and plopped down at the table. "I'm kinda hungry, actually."

"Good, because _I'm_ actually kind of _starving_," Sirius joked with a smile. "And I need some company."

Harry liked it when his godfather smiled. It was the kind of smile that remained on one's lips after a gut-wrenching laugh.

As Sirius ladled the steaming soup into two bowls and placed them on the table before carrying over the block of wood on which the bread and butter rested, Harry scooted his chair closer to the table.

Sirius sat down as well.

"Oops," he chirped quickly, plucking his wand from the kitchen table. "_Accio _spoons."

Harry goggled with interest as the requested items flew right into Sirus's hand. He did the same with the glasses of milk he had poured and left on the counter.

"How did you do that?" Harry asked, his eyes narrowed inquisitively as he cocked his head to the side.

"What? The spoons?"

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding once.

"You haven't learned summoning charms yet?" Sirius cocked his head as well, trying to mentally match up the charms and incantations with specific learning years.

"Huh-uh," Harry shook his head. "Can you teach me? Oh, wait," he claimed, crestfallen, but inevitably answering his own question, "we'll have to wait. I can't do magic outside of Hogwarts."

"Well, you can read up on summoning charms if you'd like," Sirius offered, motioning for Harry to begin eating his soup, "Remus probably has several books in his library on the subject."

Harry raised an eyebrow at Sirius's comment and scowled mildly.

"What? Not a bookworm?" Sirius teased.

Harry swallowed a mouthful of soup and took a sip of milk before speaking.

"Dunno, really," he shrugged. "I like reading about Quidditch, I guess…"

"Which reminds me…" Sirius broke in, cutting his godson off slightly but figuring he'd enjoy the news, "I surveyed the grounds while you were napping."

"Yeah?" Harry's eyes widened.

"We're surrounded by hundreds of trees—no houses nearby, at least not for several miles. And Dumbledore apologized for taking so long to send word. Said he should have done it last week. He even offered me a lemon drop for my trouble." Sirius smiled and shook his head slightly, "But…everything looks okay."

"Brilliant!"

"But, Harry…" Sirius began, straightening up.

Harry fought down the irritated huff that threatened to escape his lips. He would have liked to have said _but what?_ But instead, the boy bit his tongue. "No, I understand," Harry continued quickly. And seeing his godfather's small, skeptical look, Harry added, "_Really_, I do, Sirius… I promise I'll be careful."

"You're darn right you will," Sirius stated importantly. But Harry could see the mirth pulling at the corners of his godfather's mouth. "That is, if you'd like to live to see your fourth year."

Harry laughed and spooned up the remains of his tomato soup.

Sirius shook his head, sighed, and reached over to ruffle his godson's dark hair.

* * *

It was a few minutes after seven o'clock when Sirius and Harry finished eating. They had washed and dried the dishes together. And although Harry had briefly wondered why Sirius bothered doing it the Muggle way, he didn't bother asking, as he was sure his godfather had his reasons.

Besides, Harry didn't mind all that much; he'd done plenty of dish-washing at Privet Drive. He quickly pushed any thoughts of the Dursleys out of his head. Thinking about them or anything having to do with Surrey made Harry feel as he'd swallowed an ice cube whole.

"Would you like to go with me to Remus'?" Sirius asked. "We won't stay very late. Maybe an hour. You can look for that book."

Sirius knew that Harry would probably like to visit Remus very much but wanted to give him a choice anyway.

"Yeah, sure," Harry said. "But let me change out of this sweatshirt. I'm suffocating." He had pushed the sleeves up, but the cuffs were a bit damp and kept sliding down his forearms.

"All right. I'll wait on you," Sirius assured him, but then remembered the cool weather and called after him, "but grab a jacket!"

Harry paused on the steps, leaning over the railing.

"We're not going outside, though," Harry exclaimed. "Won't we just go by Floo?"

"Harry, just grab one!" Sirius called back, rolling his eyes a bit.

"But I thought-"

"For the love of _Merlin_, Harry…"

"Okay, okay…" The boy's voice trailed off as he climbed the last couple of steps.

When Harry returned three minutes later, he was wearing a dark green t-shirt with his jeans and had put on his trainers. He carried the jacket in the crook of his right arm.

"Look…" Harry said with a smirk as he held his dark gray jacket up for Sirius to see, "it's even lined."

"Nice," Sirius approved, playing right along. "Now all we have to do is get you a muffler out of the closet and you'll be all set." He turned to walk into the other room.

"Do _what?_"

"Kidding."

Sirius smiled again, and Harry followed suit, shaking his head at his godfather's never-ending sarcasm.

"All right. You first," Sirius threw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and tilted his head back slightly as the green flames erupted.

"Okay."

Harry stepped into the flames and clearly stated his destination before swirling away in the blackness.

He landed awkwardly and stumbled out of the fireplace, steadying himself by grasping onto the arm of a nearby man clad in black robes.

Harry knew immediately it wasn't Professor Lupin's arm he had instinctively clutched.

Gasping in shock, he released his hold and stared up into the dark, piercing eyes of Severus Snape.

TBC...

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Edging back as far away from Snape as possible, Harry suddenly tripped over something small that was lying on the floor behind him, lost his balance, and fell on his seat with a sickening _bump_, biting his tongue in the process.

His eyes watered from the pain, but the shock of seeing his most hated professor standing in the middle of Professor Lupin's living room with a scowl on his face was enough to cause Harry to disregard the copper taste in his mouth.

"I…wait, what are you…where is…" Harry stammered, temporarily losing the ability to form coherent sentences. Snape smirked at this provisional deficiency and grasped the opportunity to assert his own snide comment.

"Spit it out, Potter, difficult as it may be for you to string together an articulate series of lexicons," Snape stated sharply, his black eyes scanning the boy's face, deliberately curling his lip to emphasize his disgust.

"I …huh?" Harry tilted his head to the side and squinted at his professor.

_Couldn't the git just talk normally for once in his life?_

Snape approached the boy and crouched down to his level, glaring at him so fiercely that Harry couldn't help but inch back.

"Speak!" Snape hissed. "You _foolish_ boy…"

Harry felt his own temperature rise as the blood rushed to his face, pounding in his cheeks. He _hated_ this man. He'd always hated him. But before he had a chance to respond, the green flames crackled in the fireplace once more as Sirius stepped through briskly, expertly landing on the braided rug.

"Snape, what are _you_ doing here? Sirius exclaimed, raising his own revolted façade. He narrowed his gaze, failing to notice that he had automatically reached for his wand—the new one that Ollivander had crafted for him the day after he was acquitted of all charges.

"Sirius…" Harry began, simultaneously attempting to gain his godfather's attention and keep the man from drawing his wand. Snape had risen from his crouched position and backed away a few paces from the small teenager slouched in the corner.

"Harry, are you all right?" Sirius questioned, moving towards his godson, his hand outstretched to help Harry off of the floor.

But instead of grasping Sirius' hand, Harry pushed himself quickly into a standing position and brushed the small bits of stone and the dirt from his hands onto the sides of his thighs before stuffing them into the front pockets of his jeans. Harry sidestepped towards his godfather, allowing the man to rest his hand lightly on his shoulder and guide him to the other side of the room.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Harry stated quietly without unlocking his glare from Snape's.

Snape snorted in appalled amusement as he shook back a lock of hair that had strayed over his right eye.

"Indeed, Black," Snape sneered, "Potter seems quite content now that his beloved _pet_ has come to claim him."

That did it.

"You're such a _bastard_!" Harry shouted as he lunged toward his professor, his rationale blinded by the white-hot rage that exploded behind his eyes, his heart thumping.

Sirius grabbed his godson by the shoulders just in time, pulling Harry against his chest and speaking lightly in his ear.

"How _dare_ you!" Snape roared.

"Calm down," Sirius murmured in the boy's ear, ignoring Snape for the moment. "_No_, Harry, do as I say and _calm down_." Sirius held him tightly until he felt the rigidness ease from his godson's body.

Sirius stared at Severus with a look of raw, bitter loathing.

"Where's Remus?" Sirius inquired stiffly, fighting to control the tremor in his voice.

"Someone ought to teach Potter a lesson in controlling his pathetic behavior," Snape spat, ignoring Sirius's question all together. "Merlin knows you'd only encourage it, Mutt." Snape's right hand remained in his robes, clenched tightly around what could only be his wand.

"Don't tell me how to deal with my godson, Snivellus," Sirius retorted hatefully. "He's already twice the man you are-" Sirius was cut short as Remus entered the living room, scanning all three faces wildly.

"What happened? I heard shouting." The man pulled his weathered cardigan tightly around his middle. He was holding an empty, wooden goblet upside-down as he strolled into the middle of the room, his eyes traveling back and forth between Sirius and Snape, finally resting on Harry, whose jaw was set, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Remus could clearly see tears of rage, heavy in the boy's eyes, threatening to fall any minute.

As he continued to stare at Harry, Sirius glanced around at his godson, whose shoulders he still held firmly. Sirius attempted to place his hand on top of the Harry's head, but instead, the boy jerked back out of Sirius' reach, leaning back against the corner where the two walls met and replaced his hands in his pockets. Severus shifted his eyes from Remus to Harry as well, making eye contact briefly with the boy before dropping his gaze to the floor and back to Lupin.

Harry also shifted his gaze, focusing on a point in the room where no eyes could meet his; he swallowed thickly.

Wordlessly, Snape held out his hand for the empty goblet.

"I appreciate it, as always, Severus," Remus informed the man.

A shadow seemed to pass over Snape's face, sealing the features in stone.

"Just give me the damned thing, Wolf," Snape growled as he wrenched the cup from Remus' lax grip and strode over to the fireplace, roughly tossing in a handful of Floo powder.

"Hogwarts!" Snape barked, deliberately making eye contact with no one before he was swept up in the flames, a motley blur of green and black, and was gone.

* * *

No one stirred for several long seconds in the dim living room. The sound of crickets chirping in the cool, summer air was both unnaturally loud and comforting. As long as the steady sound rang through the silence, speaking was not required.

Remus was the first to break the stillness. His eyes settled on Harry.

"What's gotten into you?" Remus inquired softly, but firmly as he surveyed the boy's inflexible stance and pulsing jaw line.

Harry's eyes widened; he drew in a ragged breath before speaking.

"_Me_?!" the boy croaked, his voice uncharacteristically high. Using the sole of his trainer, Harry pushed himself out of the corner into an upright position. The hands he had yanked out of his pockets were balled into fists. "What are you playing at? You heard what Snape said!"

"No, I didn't," Remus shook his head slightly and risked a glance at Sirius. The man was frowning, his eyes moving back and forth between his friend and his godson, seemingly confused at the recent exchange. "But I did hear what _you_ said. He's your professor Harry, and regardless if school is in session, no matter what he said, you can't speak to him like that."

Remus looked at Sirius again and could clearly see the conflicting emotions all over his friend's face. That was one of Sirus's downfalls…one could always tell what he was thinking. According to James, Sirius was the one who had inevitably given them away when they were in trouble.

As Remus opened his mouth to demand Sirius's support on the matter, Harry spoke instead, shaking Remus out of any thoughts of impending remarks.

"You have _got_ to be joking, Professor," Harry replied, a bewildered breathiness laced throughout his tone. "Snape was the one who told everyone you were a werewolf! He's the reason you're sacked!"

"I was not sacked…"

"You might as well've been!" Harry was not backing down. He couldn't believe that Lupin was actually defending Snape—the man who possessed nothing but livid hatred for anything or anyone that reminded him of James Potter. "He's nothing but a sodding git! How could you even…"

"_Enough_."

Harry and Remus concurrently snapped their heads in Sirius's direction.

"Both of you."

Sirius wore a stern, pained look as he chided the two individuals that he cared most about in the world.

"But, Sirius, he-"

"No, Harry, Remus is right," Sirius stated solemnly. The words rolled off of the man's tongue like a bitter fluid.

"Oh,_ come on_! You're the one who called him-"

Sirius held up his hand for the second time that day, silently commanding silence. His godson complied, but Sirius could see the boy's jaw visibly working as he clenched his teeth in outrage. The tears welled up again but didn't fall. They remained, glistening madly, accentuating the boy's fury rather than causing him to look pitiful.

The wailing, stagnant screech of the crickets pronounced itself once more as the three stood in silence.

"Harry, sit down so we can talk about this," Remus said gently. "I'll make us some tea."

But Harry disregarded this statement and lowered his gaze to the floor.

"Can I look for my book now?" the boy inquired woodenly to no one in particular.

Remus quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head, "Book?"

"He's wanting to read up on summoning charms," Sirius answered, appearing noticeably relaxed after Harry's abrupt shift in demeanor.

But inwardly, Sirius remained uneasy. He wanted to discuss this with his godson, to explain to him why he had sided with Remus. Harry looked hurt, and the boy's eyes remained fixed on the floorboards. He had, once again, plunged his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, standing a bit impatiently as he waited for a reply.

Receiving none, Harry lifted his eyes to lock with his godfather's and raised an eyebrow as if saying, _well…?_

Sirius gave the smallest of inaudible chuckles. The boy had resorted to subtle insolence, just as James always had.

"All right," Sirius nodded, giving his godson a half-smile. And anyway, Harry's absence would give him a chance to talk to Remus privately.

"The library is through that corridor," Remus directed. "It's the second door on your right. You'll find what you're looking for on the second shelf from the top. I'll be there in a little while to help you."

"Okay…thanks," Harry added, glancing at Sirius once more. Reassured by his godfather's curt nod, Harry buried his hands deeper into his pockets and slowly made his way down the hall that led to Remus' library.

* * *

Sauntering down the hallway, Harry reached the second set of polished, cherry double doors to his right and made his way inside.

A cool, musty gust of air washed over his face and blew his fringe away from his forehead as he entered the dimly lit library. The balmy breeze seemed to also chase away most of Harry's anger and replace it with curiosity as he squinted up at the vaulted ceiling, willing his eyes to adjust to the gloom.

A single hanging lantern was mounted on the far right wall, emitting a calming, golden glow about the moderately-sized room. Another lantern rested on one of the small tables that sat alongside the largest of the green, leather armchairs placed in the middle of the great crimson rug that was decorated with elaborate, pale scrolls and slightly frayed at the edges.

Harry immediately strode over to the hand-held lantern, clenched the cold metal of the silver handle, and lifted it in front of his face, his eyes following the yellow circle that accentuated the dusty, dark-hued covers of the books as the light gradually traveled upwards.

He raised the lantern up as high as he could, standing on tiptoe to survey the upper shelves. Walking leisurely past the length of the second row, Harry searched for a book on Charms that looked somewhat interesting.

After a minute of searching, his right shoulder and upper arm were beginning to ache from holding the lantern in a stationary position above his head. Even though his search was brief, Harry almost gave up completely, until his eyes rested on _Vital, Everyday Charms_. He switched the lantern to his left hand and reached up to grasp the desired book.

Harry's fingers grazed the top edge of the binding, tipping the heavy volume back to land in his hand but found he had to tug a bit to ease the book out from its tight space. He reached as high as his arm would allow, yanked on the book, and stumbled backward.

On cue, a stack of six or seven books came pouring out from the shelves. The heaviest of the volumes crashed painfully against the bridge of Harry's nose, knocking his glasses askew.

Harry swore rather loudly, the worst swear word he could think of, and dropped his Charms book as he clapped his hand right hand over his eyes and nose, squeezing his face as if prevent the inevitable sharp twinge.

"Bloody _hell_," the boy swore a second time, not really caring at the moment if Sirius heard him the first time.

The final book dropped heavily from the shelf onto Harry's left foot.

He sighed, severely irritated, and kicked the fallen book off his trainer and into the middle of the rug. It bounced stiffly on the rug and fell open.

Harry stared, disregarding the mess, at the pile of yellowed letters in various sizes that lay spread out among the pages of the opened book and surrounding area. Straightening his glasses, he approached the mantra of parchment and crouched down to gather up the delicate, folded items into a stack.

Through the thin paper, Harry could clearly see the strokes of ink in a vaguely familiar scrawl. Of course, he couldn't tell exactly as he was viewing the handwriting backwards through the other side of the parchment. But just as he pinched the corner to unfold the letter, Harry heard muffled voices from the other side of the double doors.

Hastily, but carefully, Harry stuffed the gathered letters into the center of the book, tucking them deep into the binding, and slipped the volume into the waistband of his jeans

Yanking his t-shirt down over the large bulk, he hid the evidence with a _zip_ of his jacket.

TBC...

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

Harry watched the doorknob slowly turn and momentarily—stupidly—contemplated rushing over to the armchair and plopping down on the stuffed leather cushion.

He wasn't quite sure why his first instinct had been to run to some inconspicuous area like a five-year-old who had found, embezzled, and hidden a coveted, glittery object. But thankfully, his wits returned to him in a rush, causing his head to spin slightly, as he remembered that he was supposed to be searching for a book about Charms.

The stifled voices of Sirius and Remus grew louder and clearer as the door opened; Sirius' hand still rested on the knob as he finished the conversation with his friend. His back was turned to Harry, who was still squatting next to the large pile of scattered, thick books, hastily scooping them up with his right hand, while attempting to stack and balance them on his knee with his left.

"…Well, yes, Remus, but that's not the point…" Sirius ended the current conversation as he turned around to seek out the location of his godson and the catalyst of the distant, consecutive _thuds_ that had occurred a mere minute before. "Harry, what happened in here?"

Without turning back around, Sirius held the door open with his fingertips to allow Remus to enter the library. The man stared expectantly for a few seconds, waiting for a response.

Harry stood quickly, letting the carefully stacked books tumble to the floor and opened his mouth to explain about the tightly wedged book that had caused the literature-avalanche. But suddenly, Sirius frowned and let the door swing closed before striding towards Harry with lines of concern etched around his eyes.

"Your nose is bleeding," Sirius stated in surprise, as he reached out a hand and gently cupped the boy's chin and inclined his head to survey the injury. "How'd this happen?"

Harry reached over Sirius' outstretched arm to dab at the end of his nose with his knuckle. Indeed, he was bleeding.

_Huh…how did I miss that?_ Harry wondered, a bit offhandedly, as he stared at the base of his crimson-coated finger.

"Yeah…I guess it is," Harry told his godfather. He tried to smile but immediately winced as a sudden, stinging pain stabbed through his nose.

"You guess...?" Sirius echoed dryly, rolling his eyes. "Here, hold still for a moment."

Sirius delicately pressed the pads of his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of Harry's nose, slowly inching towards the boy's eye sockets while his left hand supported the back of Harry's neck. He winced along with his godson as he felt for any lumps or crookedness but was pleased to note that nothing seemed to be broken. Harry's nose was just bruised.

Sirius hissed, inhaling through his teeth, when he felt Harry gasp sharply in pain, "Yes, I know that hurts."

"Is it broken?" Harry asked softly, searching his godfather's face for conformation.

Remus handed Sirius a damp, warm cloth, which Sirius accepted and handed to Harry. The boy looked over at Remus, whom he hadn't even seen leave the library, and offered him a nod of thanks. Harry mopped up the blood carefully.

"No, it's not," Sirius replied, the corners of his mouth edging slightly upwards into a smile. He removed his hand from Harry's nose, but he carded his fingers quickly through the short fringe before dropping his arm down to his side. "You'll live."

Harry smiled too but averted his eyes away from his godfather's when he felt his face warm slightly. He didn't deserve Sirius' kindness. Only hours before, he'd been in trouble. And now, Harry he'd waded in deep…again. Why did he always do this to himself?

"So tell me, what happened to your nose?" Sirius asked again, perching on the edge of one of the arm chairs and gesticulating towards the opposite one.

Harry edged backwards to lower himself into the seat before glancing over at Remus, whose eyes were wandering busily over a row of books on the other side of the room. As he plopped down, Harry felt the cool, solid cover of the hidden book press into the bare skin of his stomach. It was uncomfortable, and the boy breathed carefully through his chest to avoid increasing the almost-painful pressure.

"I was reaching for that book…you know…the one on the top shelf," Harry began. Sirius dipped his head once in a nod, but his brown eyes remained round and solemn as he focused on his godson's slightly shifty ones. "And I guess it was stuck up there pretty good, because the whole shelf came along with it…"

"And smacked you square in the nose, I take it?" Remus offered as he ambled over to the vacant armchair next to Sirius and took a seat, crossing his legs. The man's faded trouser-cuffs rose just above his ankles as he sat, revealing a pair of scuffed, black shoes, the toes permanently curled upwards.

"Er…yeah," Harry mumbled, suddenly realizing how stupid he must have looked dodging the rainstorm of volumes.

The boy couldn't help but scowl a bit as he watched his godfather chuckle softly and Remus attempt to school an amused smirk.

"Sorry," Sirius apologized warmly, catching sight of Harry's pinched eyebrows. "You really are lucky that you didn't break your nose." He straightened his expression and cleared his throat.

Remus spoke this time: "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Harry's eyes snapped sideways, "Huh?" he inquired, a bit loudly and then unconsciously began chewing on the insides of his cheeks. He'd actually heard Remus quite well but couldn't repress the automatic, blank question.

"The book," Remus said patiently. "The one on Summoning Charms… Did you find it or is it among the debris?" He smiled at Harry as he gestured towards the pile with a jerk of his head. Sirius, who had been adamantly surveying the exchange between his friend and godson, glanced over at the fallen books as well.

"Oh…yeah, I think so," Harry rose quickly making sure that the hands stuffed into his jacket pockets were holding the dark material away from the concealed bulk.

As Harry crouched once again, he felt the hard edge of the book cut into his stomach but he forced himself to ignore it. Retrieving the desired object, Harry walked over to Remus and handed him the heavy volume.

"Ah, yes," Lupin exclaimed as he weighed the book in his left hand, running his right slowly over the cover, "one of my father's favorites. This is his library, you know, most of the books in here belong to him."

Harry cocked his head.

"Really?" the boy questioned. "Is this your parents' house?"

It was odd, really, but Harry never thought of any of the adults in his life actually having parents. He tried to imagine Professor Lupin or Sirius or even his dad—the vague memory of him anyway—as thirteen-year-olds, running around, getting into trouble… getting caught.

He tried to imagine Sirius as a boy, at Christmas, maybe, sitting around the tree with his parents, his face shining with excitement as he opened a new racing broom. But Harry found himself struggling not to laugh at the vision. It was almost as difficult for him to picture his godfather as a boy as it was to imagine himself as a middle-aged man with children. The idea was so bizarre that he was able to shake it off briskly.

It seemed to Harry that his professors and all of the other adults he knew had always been grown-up…

"Yes," Remus answered, a faraway, glassy look in his eyes, "the house was left to me when they passed away." He blinked and smiled sadly. Remus' eyes continued to remain unfocused and distant for a moment longer.

Harry nodded even though he knew Lupin wasn't looking his way. He decided not to press the matter any further. It was painful enough for Harry losing parents he barely remembered. He couldn't imagine—at any age—losing someone he'd known and loved for years.

Harry chewed on his bottom lip and suddenly ached for Sirius, even though the man was sitting less than five feet away from him. He risked a glance at his godfather, who was now sitting slumped in his armchair, his elbows propped on the armrests, his fingers laced loosely.

Sirius caught Harry's eye and winked fondly.

How was it that he already possessed affection for someone he'd only known for a couple of months? Even the first time Harry talked with Sirius at Hogwarts, he'd felt a connection—as if his godfather had always been around. Harry couldn't explain it, but he felt familiar and comfortable with Sirius…especially now that the boy knew the man cared enough to keep Harry accountable, to punish him fairly with justification, to make sure he wore a jacket, to investigate the disgusting things…like his bloody nose…

For a brief moment, feelings of guilt swirled in Harry's stomach, making him a bit nauseous. He thought about the mysterious parchment stuffed into the book that was tucked into the waistband of his jeans and wondered if he should just replace the smuggled item when Remus and Sirius weren't looking.

After all, the letters were not Harry's to take. They were none of his business. And besides, what if Sirius found out that Harry had taken the book without permission? Would he be punished again? Harry nearly shivered at the thought. It made him ill to think of disappointing Sirius again so soon.

Harry didn't think he was as afraid of a spanking as he was of losing his godfather's trust and respect, even though he figured he might reassess his reasoning the next time his bum was on the line.

Nevertheless, the boy had promised himself that he'd try harder to stabilize that trust—even if it took all summer.

Harry sighed and shifted in his chair as he listened to Sirius and Remus drone on for the next twenty minutes. He gently laid his head back to rest on the leather-covered plush and closed his eyes.

The throbbing in his nose was almost non-existent now as the mild murmur of voices lulled him into nothingness.

* * *

It seemed to be only a minute or two later when Harry felt a warm hand on his shoulder, lightly shaking him awake.

The boy inhaled brusquely through his nose and blinked the grainy sensation out of his eyes as he pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"What time is it?" Harry muttered sleepily, feeling dazed.

"Almost 10:30," Sirius answered, leaning over him.

Harry looked around the library, slightly confused. Remus was gone and the library doors stood wide open. The light from the kitchen that was streaming in through the corridor caused Harry's tired eyes to burn a bit.

He squinted.

"Are you serious? I fell asleep, and it's only 10:30?"

Sirius laughed softly under his breath, "Actually you fell asleep a little before 9:00. Remus and I have just been talking," he explained as he turned and collected Harry's book from the table that sat between the two previously occupied armchairs. "You know…as much as was possible over your snoring…"

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed, waking right up, "I don't snore!" The boy pushed himself forward with the heels of his hands that were resting on the arms of his chair.

"I'm only kidding."

Harry snorted softly and rolled his eyes.

"Where's Professor Lupin—I mean Remus?" Harry asked. He couldn't seem to get out of the habit of addressing Remus as a professor.

"He decided to turn in. After all, tomorrow's a—"

"Full moon," Harry finished.

Sirius nodded and offered his godson a somewhat poignant smile.

He stood up and stretched. The cover of the book still stuffed under his t-shirt was a bit sweaty and stuck to his skin. Harry could only imagine the imprint that would remain after he removed it.

Sirius handed Harry his book on Charms.

"Come on, Kiddo, let's go home."

* * *

As Harry stumbled through the fireplace, he waited patiently for Sirius to return as well. However, he took the opportunity to push the hidden book a little further and more securely into his waistband so it wouldn't accidentally fall out on his way upstairs

_I'll put it back in Lupin's library the minute I'm done reading them_, Harry thought, the guilt creeping into his stomach again like thick fog.

A few seconds later, Sirius stepped through. After hanging both of their jackets in the closet and dusting off his trousers, he turned. "All right…go get ready for bed," he told Harry, seeming to brace himself for an explosion.

"Erm…what time is it now?" Harry gave his godfather a _look_ that clearly said _if it's still before 11:00, you can forget it_. But he bit his tongue and simply waited for a response, annoyed with himself for failing to suppress a small yawn.

"Time for you to get your bum upstairs and into your pajamas," Sirius exclaimed, motioning towards the stairs.

"But I'm not even-"

"You're yawning all over the place," Sirius insisted. "I can always throw you over my shoulder and carry you up there, you know."

Harry's face fell before he twisted his mouth in thought.

"No, I'll go," he stated, as if that had been his intention all along.

"That's what I thought…" The amusement that saturated Sirius' face was unseen as the boy turned to flee.

When Harry was halfway up the stairs, Sirius called after him:

"I'll be up in a minute to say goodnight."

Harry stopped, peering over the banister. He stared for a minute and then nodded slowly, continuing his trek to the top floor.

* * *

When Harry opened the door to his room, the first thing he did was lift his t-shirt and peel the volume away from his skin. He paused, wondering where to stash it, before finally deciding that underneath his bed was the most practical place.

He slid the book far under the bed, listening to the scratch of the stiff cloth against the smooth wood floor.

Harry quickly stood up, pulled his clothes off and put on a pair of clean pajama pants, not bothering with a shirt. Sirius didn't care what he wore to bed, and it was always too hot when he slept anyway.

After brushing his teeth in the bathroom and leaving his glasses safely in the drawer underneath the sink, he returned to his room and flopped back onto his bed before climbing underneath his navy and white quilt.

Harry decided at the last minute to read the yellowed parchment by the light of his flashlight after Sirius had come up to say goodnight. It was the only battery-operated item that he kept stored in his trunk, just in case. After all, it's not like he could cast a simple _Lumos_ whenever the mood struck him.

Shifting to find a comfortable position among the soft mattress, Harry wrestled with the decision of asking Sirius a few questions that had been weighing on his mind all afternoon—especially after his most recent surge of curiosity.

A minute later, a light knock on the door startled Harry out of his thoughts. As always, Harry's silence let his godfather know that he was welcome.

Sirius stepped into the bedroom, leaving the door halfway open. Abandoning the desk chair, he took a seat beside Harry on the edge of his bed.

"All set?"

"Yeah," Harry answered, flipping from his side to his back and elevating himself slightly on his pillows.

"How's your nose?" Sirius asked quietly. Harry reached up to gingerly finger the bridge. It was still a bit tender, but the sharp pain had diminished long ago.

"It's fine," Harry answered. "It feels loads better."

"Good."

On a whim, Harry decided to just get it over with.

"Hey, Sirius…" the boy began, ignoring the heat spreading in his cheeks and to his ears.

"Mmmhmm?"

"You know…this afternoon…I mean," Harry blushed profusely, "what happened and all…after I flew on my broom."

Sirius nodded. If he noticed his godson's embarrassment, his expression certainly didn't give him away.

"Is that gonna happen every time I screw up?" Harry wasn't even looking at Sirius anymore. He was too ashamed. He was sure that his face was just going to burn up and fall right off. He wiped his sweaty palms off on his pajamas underneath the quilt.

Sirius sighed, and Harry darted his eyes over to his godfather.

"Not every time. Only when I think you deserve it," Sirius replied honestly. He wasn't an expert on distinguishing the seriousness of crime and appropriate punishment just yet. But he hoped his ambiguous answer would suffice.

"But…"

_Okay, maybe not_.

"I mean…" Harry continued, "How will I know if what I've done is enough to get a….erm." He couldn't finish.

"Believe me, you'll know."

Harry frowned. "But how-"

"Harry, just listen," Sirius said quietly. "You're a good person, and you have a good heart. You're so much like your dad…and your mum…it's astounding. And I know you don't always mean to get into mischief. You're thirteen. Trouble is just going to seek you out at times…"

"Yeah, but…" Harry tried again, but Sirius held up his index finger and the boy fell silent once more.

"Trust me, Harry, I _know_. I know that it's hard to do what's right sometimes. But that's when you have to remind yourself of the person you truly are…and what you want to become."

Harry thought about this for several long seconds.

"But it's difficult sometimes, you know?" Harry explained dimly. "Sometimes it's hard even _knowing_ what's right…"

Sirius nodded. "We all make mistakes," he assured him. "But believe me, Harry, even right now, at thirteen, you know the difference between right and wrong. We all do."

Harry sighed and shifted back over on his right hip. He stared up at Sirius for a while until the man ran his fingers gently through his godson's hair.

"Anything else?"

Harry blinked lazily. "I think I'm sort of old for it, Sirius…" he attempted shyly.

Pinching his lips together slightly, Sirius swallowed his amusement. "Are you? Well, keep proving to me that you know the right way to act, and you won't have to worry about it."

Harry exhaled heavily. _Oh, well, _he thought. _It was worth a try._

Glancing away for a second, Harry's eyes glossed over in thought. He could still feel where the book had been pressing into his belly.

"Anything else?"

Harry's teeth snagged a portion of his lower lip as his eyes flicked back toward his godfather. He shook his head.

Sirius patted him twice, lightly, on the hip and stood up, "All right, then. I'll see you in the morning."

"Oh, wait…you said something about flying rules," Harry suddenly remembered.

"Tomorrow," Sirius murmured before extinguishing the lanterns that were mounted on the opposite wall.

"Okay. Goodnight, then." Harry snuggled deeper into his covers.

"Goodnight, Harry."

Harry caught one last blurry glimpse of his godfather's wink before he closed the door gently from the other side.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Harry tossed and turned fitfully in his covers. He couldn't get comfortable and kept throwing off his quilt. It was too hot. He sat up with a huff, grabbed one of his pillows from behind him and hugged it to his chest, resting his chin on a cool patch of the pillowcase.

Sitting, just waiting in the gloom from underneath the bed was the book.

Harry suctioned the insides of his cheeks against his molars. _Just one letter_, he thought. _I'll give the book back tomorrow_.

The tips of Harry's fingers itched.

_Just one, measly scrap of parchment…_

Stupidly, he counted backwards from five. He lay back down.

But it didn't help.

"Oh, _flaming hell!_" Harry whispered fiercely as he bounded out of bed, plunged his hand into his trunk in search of his flashlight and dashed over to the bed, sliding a bit on his knees as he reached underneath.

He slid the book back out from its hiding spot, ripping it open to the bookmarked center and shining the wavering beam of his flashlight onto the small pile.

Carefully, he picked up the square of parchment that rested on the very top. Unfolding the thin paper, he moved the flashlight closer and squinted as he scanned the thin scrawl:

_**REMUS,**_

_**TONIGHT—11—FORB. FOR.**_

_**IT ONLY GROWS EVERY FEW DECADES.**_

_**MEET ME—UNLESS YOU ACTUALLY ENJOY FEELING LIKE RUBBISH EVERY MONTH.**_

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

Harry was lounging on his bed, propped up into a sitting position against his pillows.

He'd woken rather early, the sun still overshadowed by the deep, gray-blue clouds and the tiny sliver of a pale moon, and had lain on his stomach for what seemed to be about ten minutes, in thought. Harry tried to close his eyes again, but heaviness of sleep had diminished and the lids rose inevitably.

Flipping himself over, Harry had stretched lying flat on his back, his limbs contorting into some sort of awkward sprawl as his muscles attempted to wake themselves up. The effort caused him to yawn thickly, and he automatically rubbed his hands over his face a few times before rising and dragging his bare feet over to the wardrobe to dress.

Harry had learned, when he lived at the Dursleys, to wake early, throw on his clothes, and then hit the loo before Dudley banged in and occupied the room for nearly an hour. Harry tried to take his showers at night so he wouldn't have to worry about Dudley barging in on him, whining at him to _hurry up_. The fat lug had always come down to breakfast with every strand of his golden hair slicked back into an idiotic swirl. And every morning, Harry had to fight the urge to slam is fist right into his cousin's teeth, wiping the smug look from his pudgy face.

But here at the Edinburgh cabin with Sirius, Harry had his own bathroom connected to his bedroom and didn't have to worry about being locked out of it for an hour at a time. However, he _did_ have to worry about keeping it tidy. Harry had once woken up to a pile of damp towels, t-shirts, and underpants thrown on top of him. After he'd clawed his way to the top of the smothering pile, Harry emerged to face his annoyed godfather, who had stated, with a role of his eyes, that _this wasn't Hogwarts_ and that Harry would _have to clean up after himself_. At the time, Sirius wouldn't allow the temporary house elf to pick up after Harry or him.

Nevertheless, Harry had gotten used to tidying up—for the most part. After all, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon hardly ever set foot in his old bedroom and didn't really care what it looked like as long as Harry remained shut up in it. So in a form of silent protest, the boy had scattered as many crisps wrappers as he dared among the other debris. Harry didn't do that here, though, at least not any more. He enjoyed and took pride in his new possessions.

Harry currently remained propped up on his bed, his still-bare feet tucked under his legs so he was sitting cross-legged, as he sifted through the rest of Remus's letters. He did it a bit hastily, as his ink blue curtains were beginning to illuminate with the rising sun. Sirius would be up soon for breakfast.

_It grows in the Forbidden Forest_, Harry thought. That much was obvious. But what was it? And why did it only grow every few decades? And why did Harry care? To be honest, it wasn't the most exciting bit of parchment he could have discovered. But the handwriting struck Harry. It looked so familiar, yet there was something different about it.

_Could it be my dad's?_ the boy pondered again. Had he ever seen the handwriting of James Potter? Harry didn't think so.

Sirius would know. But then Harry would have to tell him where he "found" the letters, and he didn't want to get into trouble.

Setting the mysterious letter aside, Harry scooped up the rest of the letters once again and looked at them one-by-one.

Two pieces of folded parchment contained games of Tic-Tac-Toe and a rather insulting version of Hang Man. Harry recognized Sirius' and Remus' writing immediately.

The boy smiled to himself and briefly thought about tucking the parchment into his back pocket and waving it in front of his godfather's face whenever the man nudged Harry over his own foul language.

_Yeah, maybe not_. Harry tossed the errant parchment aside, not really wanting to imagine the aftereffects of _that_.

A few more letters were written to Remus by a girl named Melody. The content of that parchment was petty and typical of a teenaged girl. Harry made a face and deposited the letters with the rest of the discarded.

After briefly scanning and laying aside a piece of parchment filled with Herbology notes, Harry held the final yellowed document in both hands—the one he'd deliberately saved for last. It was the only other letter that contained the same familiar scrawl:

_YOU KNOW YOU'RE CURIOUS ABOUT IT._

**NO I'M NOT.**

_YES YOU ARE._

**WE'LL GET IN TROUBLE.**

Remus was definitely the second speaker in this conversation, Harry figured. The boy continued reading:

_IT'S WORTH IT!_

**FINE.**

_DON'T TELL ANYONE ELSE._

**FINE!!!**

"That's gotta be my dad," Harry whispered to himself. Who else did Remus know, besides Sirius, that got into trouble without thinking twice?

Reading a note like this caused Harry to feel strangely excited. It was even better than the warm feeling that crept into his heart whenever Sirius mentioned his parents.

Harry sat for several minutes longer, his left elbow resting on his knee, chin in hand. The piece of parchment rested on the bed but remained clipped between two fingers of Harry's right hand. The boy thought about the possibilities as intensely as he could, but seeing as it was only after seven o'clock, judging by the growing light in the room, Harry couldn't conjure up anything spectacular. He didn't know why he was so interested, really. The words probably didn't mean anything. But by fingering the limp, yellowed parchment, running the tips down the smooth, thin surface of ink that had bled into the paper, made Harry feel connected to his parents' past. Made him realize that they _did_ exist.

His stomach was growling. Harry would have to think about this later.

Carefully, so as not to tear the paper, Harry folded all of the documents together into a thicker pile and replaced them against the binding in the middle of the book and slid it under his pillow. He arranged the adjacent pillow on top of the one that concealed Remus's hidden letters and patted down the case to make it look as if Harry's head had sunk into the feathers only moments before. Sirius never searched through Harry's things and hardly ever entered his room without permission, so the cover-up wasn't really necessary. But Harry did it anyway.

Scooting to the edge of the bed, Harry kicked his legs over the edge, feeling stiff from sitting with them crossed, and made his way down to the kitchen.

* * *

Even though they'd finished breakfast a half hour ago, Sirius remained seated at the table with his godson. Together, they sat huddled and bent over a clean piece of parchment constructing some rules.

_I should have done this when we first got here_, Sirius thought, a bit irritated at himself for his obliviousness.

However, they were doing it now, at that counted for something, Sirius finally decided. The man also decided that he couldn't keep scorning himself for his initial mistakes and naïve nature. He felt he currently had a handle on things—at least more than he did before.

During the first ten minutes of rule constructing, the two had laughed and joked a bit over possible outlandish restrictions and guidelines. But as time passed, they got down to business. Sirius was surprised at the amount of consideration Harry was giving to this activity. He watched silently as his godson jotted down a few notes, occasionally scratching out a line or two and reconstructing—his forehead furrowed in concentration, his lips tightly clamped.

"What have you got?" Sirius asked, sitting up from his reclined position as the tip of Harry's quill plunked a final period onto the parchment.

Harry scooted the document across the table to his left so Sirius could get a better look at it, taking advantage of his turn to recline. He watched his godfather as the man's eyes scanned the parchment. Sirius nodded occasionally. Harry chewed on his thumbnail as he waited.

"Not bad," Sirius offered, placing the parchment back on the table. Harry smiled around the nail on which he was still nibbling. "One thing, though, I'd like you on the ground, broom in the closet at eight o'clock at night instead of nine," the man continued, dipping the quill into ink and making the correction.

"But it's summer…" Harry exclaimed, fighting to keep the whine out of his voice. After all, it _was_ really cool of Sirius to let him help with the rules. What other adult would do that?

"Yes, Bub, and it gets dark outside around eight-thirty," Sirius explained without raising his voice. "I want you to always be able to see which direction you're flying. Got it?'

"Yeah, I got it," Harry answered with a sigh, "But hey, can I stay up until eleven o'clock, like I wrote down? You know…since it's summer and all…"

Sirius smiled lightly and chuckled. At least Harry had given himself a bedtime. Sirius hadn't expected to see that.

"Sure," his godfather nodded.

"Brilliant!"

* * *

The weekend went by leisurely and quietly. A bit too leisurely, Sirius admitted only to himself; he was becoming slightly restless, not about anything concerning his godson, but about being cooped up in Edinburgh without doing anything productive.

True, he'd just gotten out of Azkaban and Dumbledore had strongly suggested that Sirius _take the summer to wind down_. Wind down and become acquainted with Harry. And in all honesty, the headmaster had been very kind, generously offering to take care of everything. But Sirius was a proud man—precisely why he'd declined the help of a house elf after a couple weeks of consistently sparkling dishes and always-fresh clothes.

During the first ten days or so, his godson had gotten into the habit of leaving a pile of his discarded garments in the bathroom, his muddy trainers in the middle of the living room, and his dirty dishes on the kitchen table, most likely realizing that his messes would always be attended to.

Sirius knew right away that it was important for Harry have chores—responsibility. During his adolescence, Sirius didn't have _any_ chores, and he always knew that Kreacher would trail behind him. Although he had hated the Black family house elf and had often thought the barmy, decrepit thing deserved to clean up his rubbish, Sirius knew he turned into somewhat of a prat because of it.

And he wanted better for Harry.

Sirius also wanted Harry to behave himself and develop a handle on his temper early so his godson wouldn't turn into the impetuous, hot-headed man that Sirius was trying to leave behind.

Sunday evening was no exception.

* * *

Harry was lying on his stomach in front of the fireplace, reading the book that he'd gotten from Remus' library.

Sirius glanced up from his own book every once in a while to look over at his godson and could immediately tell that Harry wasn't really concentrating on the text in front of him. So when Harry tossed the book on the floor with a _thunk_ and rolled over on his hip, propping himself up by the elbow, Sirius wasn't surprised.

Sirius laid his own novel on his lap, marking his place with his thumb.

"What is it?" the man asked a bit dryly, raising an eyebrow.

Harry pushed himself up into a sitting position and scooted back on his seat so that he was resting against the bottom half of the armchair.

"Well…" Harry began. He paused.

Sirius nodded, gesturing him to continue.

"What I was wondering is…how come you sided with Snape?"

Sirius looked taken aback. "What? When did I side with Snape?" That was the last thing he'd expected to come flying out of his godson's mouth. Sirius removed his thumb from his book and set it on the table next to the chair he was lounging in.

"You know…the other day…"

"At Remus'?" Sirius inquired, a bit confused.

"Yeah," Harry nodded pointedly.

"I didn't side against you, Harry, it's just that Remus had a point," Sirius stood up and walked into the kitchen, still speaking. "He's your professor." Sirius chose a cream-colored mug from the cabinet and poured himself the last of the coffee that was heating on the stove. "Knowing Snape, he'd make your life miserable come September over that…"

As he sat down at the kitchen table, Harry got up from the floor, walked over, and sat down next to his godfather. The boy was silent for a minute, but Sirius could tell that he was only pondering over what to say next.

"But that doesn't even make sense," Harry announced raising his voice ever so slightly, his eyes fixed on the table top as he shook his head.

Sirius looked up, a bit startled by the forceful edge to Harry's voice.

"What do you mean?" Sirius spoke into his coffee.

Harry's eyes darted to his godfather's.

"How can you _not_ know what I mean, Sirius?" Harry exclaimed.

Sirius was bewildered. This had happened _four_ days ago; he'd hardly given it a second thought. Sirius stood up again and sauntered over to the counter, leaning against the edge of the sink.

"Harry, calm down and just tell me what's bothering you. I'm not trying to make you angry."

He dumped the coffee down the drain.

"I hate it when people tell me to bloody calm down, Sirius..." Harry said with a scowl. "It gets on my nerves."

"This is the first time I've ever said it anything _like_ that..." Sirius refuted with a befuddled frown, letting his empty mug hang from a curled finger.

"No it's not--"

"Stop it," Sirius stated in a tired, somewhat pleading voice. "I'm not in the mood for a row today."

"This isn't a row!" Harry nearly squalled, his palms flat on the table. "You think _everything's_ an argument. I barely mentioned Snape's name and you jumped all over my arse--"

"I absolutely _did_ not, Harry," Sirius said, really frowning now. "And you know it. You haven't even explained the issue to me. Stop being so dramatic."

"I'm not being dramatic!" Harry cried. Accidently flicking the salt shaker over on its side, Harry swore under his breath, looking away.

With a clunk of his mug against the counter, Sirius moved forward quickly.

"_Don't_ shout at me." Sirius said quietly, yet fiercely, standing less than a foot away from his godson, his finger pointing right at Harry's face, unconsciously emphasizing his words. "We've talked about this."

Harry had grabbed onto the edge of the table, flinching from the stern rebuke.

"And _watch_ your mouth," Sirius continued a bit more mildly.

Harry felt the heat slide up slowly along the back of his neck to his cheeks. He hated being scolded. He hated _himself_ for making Sirius angry enough to scold him. Harry stood without speaking for a very long moment, his heart still pounding with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. He deliberately avoided his godfather's eyes.

"You don't…" Harry dared.

"Pardon?" Sirius turned around. Sighing, he had begun making his way back to his book in the living room.

Harry still felt the anger bubbling inside of him for some reason. It made him want to clench his teeth.

"…watch your mouth, I mean," Harry retorted again, his fingers stupidly absorbed in the knot at the end of his sweatshirt's hood strings.

Sirius didn't know what to say. Yes, he swore a bit—not as much as he used to—but he'd tried to control it around his godson. He had probably used a few mild swear words around Remus, and Harry had heard. He'd have to be more careful.

"Well, I'm an adult," Sirius stated and instantly regretted his words. He had hated hearing that phrase as a teenager. Seeing the color rise in Harry's cheeks again, he added, "and yes, I do…for the most part. But that's not the point. You're thirteen, and you need to learn to use your words—the intelligent ones."

"Huh?"

"Oh, don't give me _that_, Harry James, you know exactly what I'm talking about," Sirius said as he made his way, once again, to his armchair, but the coldness was receding from his voice.

Harry stood up as well and followed him into the living room, plopping down on the sofa.

"Can Ron come over this week?" Harry asked, irritation still laced through his tone.

Sirius dropped his book heavily into his lap and gazed at his godson with disbelief.

"Where did _that_ come from?" Sirius narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "One minute you're shouting at me and the next you're completely changing the subject!"

"Well," Harry snorted, "it's obvious you're a little touchy about the Snape issue, so I thought I'd ask you something else. I'm bored. And I want to see my friend."

Sirius clenched his hands around the book, willing himself to reel in his temper. Harry was being smart, and they both knew it.

"We'll see."

Harry stared at his godfather as he slouched in his seat.

"That has got to be the lamest answer I've ever heard, Sirius. Why can't we just discuss it?! I mean, if I want to see Ron…"

Enough was enough.

Sirius calmly tossed his book down on the table, stood up, and stalked over to Harry, reaching for his arm. He didn't care that his godson had inched back away from him.

"Wait, Sirius—" Harry attempted as Sirius accompanied him across the living room, but surprisingly, his godfather simply plunked Harry down onto the cushion.

Harry tried to stand up, but Sirius placed his hands on his godson's shoulders and firmly sat him back down again. Grasping the boy's shoulders and crouching down, Sirius pierced Harry's green stare with his own.

"I don't know what has come over you today, but this isn't going any further," Sirius commanded quietly. "Please don't look at the floor when I'm talking to you."

Harry's eyes snapped up at the pressure against his shoulders; he wanted to say something, but he bit his lip instead.

"You are going to sit here for twenty minutes without opening your mouth. I want you to control your temper and calm down before you say something you'll regret. Then, we'll talk. If I hear one word from you before then, I can _guarantee_ that it'll be more trouble for you. Understood?"

Harry blushed profusely. Already, he knew from the look on Sirius' face that his godfather wasn't playing around.

"Well?"

Harry nodded.

"All right, then." Sirius stated, satisfied. He stood up, released Harry's shoulders, and retrieved his wand from his pocket. With a small swish, the armchair whirled around to face the corner.

Harry gasped in mortification. The _corner._ Did Sirius even realize what he was _doing_? He hadn't been placed in a corner since…since...

"Just one word, Harry; try it and see what happens," Sirius prompted, darkly, re-pocketing his wand. "Don't test me."

Silence from the corner.

As Sirius turned and walked through the kitchen into the parlor, he stopped and put a hand over his eyes, a bit embarrassed of his childish taunting.

* * *

_Why the hell did I say those things?! _Harry inwardly screamed at himself, his hands clutching his face. _W__hat was I thinking?_

He and Sirius were having a great weekend! And Harry was livid with himself for buggering that up. Harry'd overreacted when they were discussing Snape, or beginning to, at least. The more he thought about what had been said, Harry realized that nothing Sirius said was meant to provoke him.

And in all honesty, Harry knew that Sirius was right. He _did _need to watch his language. Lately, he couldn't even think without throwing in a bit of blasphemy. For some reason this year, despite Hermione's constant scolding, Harry and Ron had taken up swearing more than they ever had before.

The hot anger that had so suddenly and unexpectedly boiled in Harry's stomach had diminished, leaving it with an empty, guilty feeling. He didn't know why his temper had flared up so instantaneously.

As Harry sat, the sound of his own breathing the only audible noise in the room, he leaned his head back against the cushion and thought, trying to take his mind off of his punishment. He could show the two letters to Ron! Well, only if Sirius let him visit. Or maybe Harry could visit the Burrow! Why not?

But all-too sudden, Harry's stomach churned guiltily again when he thought of the argument that had just taken place between Sirius and him. Why was it only _after_ these things occurred that Harry felt bad about them?

Harry sighed and bounced the back of his head a few times on the plump cushion.

The only thing to do now after his twenty minutes were up, was to apologize to his godfather.

Harry didn't expect Sirius to forgive him, but at least he could try.

TBC...

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

Sirius sat on the edge of a plush-covered chair in the parlor. For the past seventeen minutes, he'd alternated pacing the room and lounging in one of the several armless chairs that surrounded the gleaming wood of the round coffee table.

Now, as the man waited impatiently for the last three minutes of Harry's—what would you call it…time-out?—to end, his mind replayed the recent events repeatedly. Sirius's fingers unconsciously toyed with the wick of a blunt, cream-colored candle as he sat hunched in pensive uncertainty.

He glanced at the tall grandfather clock that stood in the corner of the room and watched the shorter hand rotate methodically around the face.

The constant _tick_ of the seconds seemed much louder than usual.

Two more minutes.

Sirius wasn't exactly certain why he felt so torn. Part of him felt like he'd done the right thing—ordering his godson to sit silently in the corner for twenty minutes in order to cool his temper; however, another part of Sirius felt a bit guilty about threatening the boy if he failed to keep his mouth shut. Perhaps Harry would have just sat there and obeyed because his godfather had told him to…

Probably not.

_But does that mean that I did this right, then?_ Sirius couldn't help questioning himself over the matter.

After all, the man hadn't heard a single peep from the living room since he'd left Harry and stalked into the parlor. However, Sirius still couldn't help feeling a bit uneasy. Uneasy over the instant, rosy flush of embarrassment that had seeped into his godson's cheeks and ears during the latter part of the scolding. And the gnawing tenseness in Sirius's stomach remained over the memory of his parting taunt: _I dare you_…

Sirius sighed as he continued to twist the unlit wick between his thumb and forefinger, gazing at nothing in particular on the opposite parlor wall.

Apparently Harry _and_ Sirius needed to learn when to put a sock in it when required.

The man glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes had finally passed.

_Thank God_, he thought as he pushed himself up out of the chair and walked slowly into the living room. Strangely, Sirius felt as if he'd put _himself _in the corner. He had certainly done a great deal of thinking about the whole situation.

As Sirius made his way through the kitchen, he peered cautiously into the living room. The stuffed armchair was still facing the corner—the only thing visible over the back cushions was the top of a dark, unruly head of hair.

Sirius could tell that Harry had heard his approaching footsteps, as the boy shifted ever so slightly in his position; however, Harry didn't try to turn around. His godson didn't even swivel his head.

Maybe Harry thought it was childish to be put in time-out at thirteen and was still angry at Sirius for doing it.

Inwardly wincing, the man reached into the waistband of his jeans, waved his wand a second time that day, and waited while the chair turned itself around in the right direction.

The first thing Sirius noticed was that, miraculously, Harry didn't look angry at all. The boy was sitting quietly with one foot tucked underneath the other leg that was dangling off the edge of the seat. Harry was resting his head against the chair's pillowed back and looked up at Sirius with round, green eyes as he chewed on his bottom lip.

The boy watched a bit warily as his godfather glanced around behind him in search of a nearby chair to scoot closer and sit in. Finding the closest one in the kitchen, Sirius retrieved it quickly, swung it over the living room threshold, and plopped it down in front of his godson.

Harry had intently surveyed Sirius's every movement from the minute the boy had been spun around to face him. Initially, Harry didn't think that this "talk" was going to involve anything except the obvious. But as he watched Sirius take a seat in the armless, wooden chair, almost identical to the desk chair in his room, the boy desperately hoped nothing else was going to take place.

Suddenly sensing the minor apprehension that had creased the boy's brow, Sirius offered his godson a reassuring smile.

"You've done your time—nice and quietly, I noticed," Sirius said softly, raising his eyebrow in mock-surprise, causing the tiniest of half-smiles to play upon the boy's mouth, "I suppose that means we can spring you."

Harry smiled lightly, fleetingly again, but he made no move to get up from his chair and allowed his head to remain relaxed into the back of the cushion.

"But before you run off, we need to have a talk," Sirius continued, allowing his voice to adopt a solemn tone.

Harry still didn't say anything. Instead, he dropped his gaze into his lap, mindlessly tracing the outline of his thumbnail with the forefinger of his other hand. Harry's cheeks were still a bit pink, Sirius noticed.

"You're not in trouble anymore, Bub," Sirius said gently, leaning forward. The man was actually quite surprised in his godson's change in demeanor. He'd half-expected Harry's temper to still be boiling a bit. Maybe Sirius had done this right after all…

Harry glanced up slowly, this time raising one of _his_ eyebrows, but in genuine curiosity.

"I'm not?"

Sirius shook his head and smiled, "When I said we would talk after you cooled off, I meant just that." He rested his forearms on his knees while he waited for Harry to respond.

Harry lifted and tilted his head in thought for a few seconds before simply replying, "Oh. Okay…" Removing his foot from its tucked position, Harry let his leg hang next to his other one, absently running his big toe along the knobby pattern in the rug.

Suddenly possessing the urge to chuckle softly in an act of tenderness, Sirius stopped himself just in time, figuring that his godson wouldn't take it the right way. He knew Harry was a teenager, but sometimes it struck the man just how young and innocent the boy unconsciously appeared. Sirius also knew that many people expected great things from his godson—The-Boy-Who-Lived.

But Harry was still a child. And moments like these, when an expression of vulnerability or uncertainty crossed the boy's features, made Sirius realize just how important it was for him to provide stability and reassurance in Harry's life. One of the things the man remembered most vividly about adolescence was that sometimes, you just felt lost. Thankfully, Sirius had gained the love and support of James's father and always felt that the man that Sirius considered his mentor was somehow able to hold everything together—to make sense of the confusion—when Sirius felt rejected and broken, especially after he'd left Grimmauld Place for good.

All at once, Sirius felt an immense surge of protective affection for Harry, and it warmed his heart. He reached out and gently ruffled the boy's unruly hair.

"Hey, Sirius…" Harry began quietly

"Mmm-hmm?" the man replied patiently. Harry's eyes briefly followed Sirius hand as they trailed to the back of the boy's neck in order to straighten the hood that had tucked itself into the back of his sweatshirt. Wordlessly, Harry leaned forward a bit, allowing his godfather to fix his trapped hood.

"I just want you to know…I mean—" Harry paused for a second and began chewing on his thumbnail, "I'm just—I'm sorry…" the boy's face warmed, but he continued, his words a bit muffled as he formed them around the tip of his thumb, "I'm not really bored here. That was kind of stupid to say…I didn't mean it, you know? I was just mad…"

Sirius nodded, "I know."

And for some reason, he suddenly noticed that his godson's glasses were quite smudged. Leaning forward again, Sirius gently removed them from the bridge of Harry's nose, and holding out the edge of his soft shirt in a gesture that let the boy know that Sirius was only going to clean them, the man relaxed into his chair and did just that, but continued speaking in the process:

"I'm sorry too then, Harry," Sirius offered.

The boy scrunched up his face in a questioning look—his eyes especially squinted from the absence of his glasses.

"Why are _you_ sorry? I'm the one who acted like a total prat…" Harry retorted incredulously.

Harry nodded in thanks as Sirius handed him back his clean glasses. And pushing them on in a hastily familiar fashion, Harry cocked his head and waited for his godfather's response.

"I didn't explain myself too well, did I?" Sirius replied, reclining in his chair once again, "Of course it would seem odd to you—the way I agreed with Remus, even though Snape provoked you a bit."

Harry nodded slowly, still bewildered, "But I kind of bit your head off for no good reason."

"True," Sirius answered, "and there's no doubt you need to learn to control that temper of yours…"

The boy looked down at his lap again.

"…but maybe I should have been a bit more understanding," Sirius said with a small shrug.

"And I should have kept my big mouth shut."

This time, Sirius did chuckle.

"We're a pair, aren't we?" the man joked, giving Harry a wink when the boy finally cracked a genuine smile.

Harry chewed on his nails again for a moment, his eyes focused on his fingers.

Finally, the boy let his hand fall to his thigh, a mild _thwap_ resounding off the denim. He sighed and leaned his head back on the cushion, his eyes focused solemnly on his godfather:

"I really am sorry, Sirius…"

And once again, the man's heart felt overwhelmed with love for the boy who had only come into his life just a couple short months ago. Harry—who was so much like his father, yet different. A boy whose eyes seemed so knowing and genuine but whose heart still clung to childhood in a mirthful and impetuous way.

Sirius smiled.

"I know you are. And you're more than forgiven," Sirius said gently as he reached out and brushed the boy's fringe aside with the tips of his fingers, "I promise." He dropped his hand and rested it on his knee as he leaned forward and looked straight into Harry's eyes, "All right?"

Harry nodded.

"Good," Sirius exclaimed, hoping that he'd sufficiently finalized the incident.

However, the man knew his godson's features well enough to sense another concern churning beneath the surface.

"Question?" Sirius inquired in the familiar dry, teasing tone that sometimes caused Harry to role his eyes, but mostly made the boy smile and play right along. Harry was used to Sirius joking about his never-ending inquisitive streak.

Today, Harry simply smiled contentedly at his godfather's proverbial casualness.

"Well, yeah…kind of," Harry began with a small laugh, but then quickly replaced the slight amusement that had begun to dance around his face with a thoughtful expression, "not really a question, but…" the boy trailed off.

"But…" Sirius prompted.

Harry considered his words for a moment, and then stared at his godfather.

"It's because of the potion, isn't it…" Harry posed this as an earnest statement rather than a question.

Sirius tilted his head and furrowed his brow in question, but figuring that Harry would continue eventually, the man said nothing and allowed his godson to elaborate.

"That's why Professor Lupin—or Remus, I mean—" Harry shook his head briskly as if attempting to rid himself of the habit of addressing his father's friend as a professor, "that's why he doesn't let Snape get to him…well, not as much as a lot of people do anyway…"

Sirius twisted his mouth pensively for a few seconds, "I suppose that's part of it."

Harry pushed himself up with his hands so he was sitting straighter.

"But the thing I don't get," the boy continued, shaking his head, "is how come Snape even bothers to brew Remus the Wolfsbane potion if it was that git's fault that he was fired in the first place… I mean, obviously Snape wanted to get rid of him…"

Nodding, so as to let Harry know that he was listening to him, Sirius stood up, moved the vacated chair closer to the fireplace, and took a seat in the more comfortable chair that he'd previously lounged in while reading.

"You know," Sirius exclaimed, combing his fingers through the top of his dark, wavy hair, "one of these days, you're going to make the mistake of accidentally calling Snape that to his face..."

Harry sniffed in scoffing amusement, "You should try sitting through one of Snape's classes with him breathing down your neck and criticizing you every five seconds and see how long it takes before you get the urge to pop him right in his big nose…"

Sirius gave a short bark of laughter before reclining further in his chair and gazing thoughtfully at his laced fingers for a moment.

"Remus never had it out for Severus the way your dad and I did. He mostly ignored all three of us when we got riled up," Sirius continued, still staring at his hands as he tapped the knuckles of his left hand with the fingers of his other. Harry could tell that his godfather was remembering something by the unfocused glaze that had fallen over his eyes.

"Why, what'd Snape do to you back then? Harry asked. The boy's malice towards the sneering professor was clearly evident in the tone of his voice.

Sirius stopped tapping.

And after gaping aimlessly for another moment, he glanced up at Harry with a peculiar expression that the boy had never seen before—an expression that—strangely—caused Sirius to look like a ten year old who had just discovered something odd and interesting lying at the bottom of a toy chest.

"I'm not sure…" the man stated quietly.

Harry arched an eyebrow.

"Huh?" the boy inquired, giving Sirius his signature blank look.

Snapping out of his momentary stupor, Sirius provided Harry with his own _look_. That had to have been about the twentieth time his godson had given him a "huh" in response that day. The word was becoming as aggravating as a dinging bell.

"_What?_" Harry exclaimed, "What am I supposed to say?" He held his palms out as if he were at a loss, but Sirius could sense the ghost of a laugh brewing beneath Harry's innocent façade.

He rolled his eyes playfully at Harry, picked up his book, and plopped it on his lap as he settled into a comfortable position in his favorite armchair.

"Go play."

"All right," Harry said with a snicker and pushed himself onto his feet. He was almost to the kitchen when Sirius's voice caused him to turn around abruptly.

"Harry…"

"Yeah?" the boy paused, his hand gripping the edge of the doorway

"Where are your socks? Your feet have got to be freezing…most of the floors are made of wood in this house…" Sirius narrowed his eyes a bit as he spoke. He knew it was a random question, but the man was beginning to notice a pattern.

Harry shrugged, "I hate socks."

Appearing as if his answer only made perfect sense, Harry swung himself back and forth from the arm that was still holding on to the wall.

Sirius attempted to stifle his amusement.

"Care to share the reason?" he asked as seriously as he could.

Harry considered a moment, "No. I mean…there's not one really."

Chuckling this time, Sirius shook his head, "I guess I know what _not_ to get you for your birthday… But you really should face your fear of footwear one of these days…"

Harry smirked.

"Well if you're done making fun of me…"

"Oh, go upstairs, you nutter," Sirius commanded jokingly.

It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. He continued through the kitchen and jogged up the stairs. Suddenly remembering something, Harry halted, leaned over the railing and called out:

"Hey, Sirius—can I look through your stone collection?"

Sirius had told Harry about the collection he'd started when he was about seven years old. He'd collected all kinds of cool-looking rocks and crystals he had found on the ground up until his last year at Hogwarts. James was the only other person Sirius had ever shown his collection to, as Sirius had always been slightly embarrassed of his interest. But James didn't seem to think the whole concept was weird at all. In fact, he'd occasionally asked to sift through the multicolored collection—just as Harry was doing now.

"Sure," Sirius called back, "it's on the top shelf of the wardrobe that's in my bedroom."

"Brilliant. Thanks!" Harry ran the rest of the way upstairs.

Before he reached the door to Sirius's bedroom, Harry slowed to a walk. The boy didn't often go into his godfather's room—at least not without permission. After being locked away in the dreary gloom of Azkaban for so long, Harry figured that Sirius needed a place that was all his own. Harry kind of felt the same way about his new room after being cooped up in the crappy excuse for a bedroom that the Dursleys provided him with. And he respected his godfather enough to stay out of his things.

However, as Harry stepped into the vast space, it was as if the cool gust of air that had whooshed out of the closed quarters had carried a wave of instantaneous inspiration as it washed over the boy's face.

Thinking about the stones, the thought of his father had also crept into Harry's mind—as well as the seemingly trivial messages he had been trying to decode over the past few days.

_I wonder if Sirius has anything of my dad's…_ Harry thought, as the tingling needles of curiosity began to poke tauntingly at his stomach. He leaned against the side of the wardrobe as he pondered. But the boy quickly became angry at himself. He'd already been in trouble today and very nearly gotten his behind walloped again for his mouth.

Harry didn't want to push his luck.

_But maybe there's something in here with my dad's writing on it_, the mischievous voice inside Harry's head whispered again, _and if there is, then I could compare it to what I found at Remus's_. _And then, if me and Ron can figure out what the bloody hell they're talking about in that letter…_

"No," Harry told himself firmly outloud, "Shut up, stupid, you'll get yourself into loads of trouble…"

And pushing up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, Harry walked around to the front of the tall wardrobe and wrenched open the drawers. Standing on tiptoe, he peered into the top shelf as best as he could.

Nothing.

Well, at least it didn't seem so from his deprived angle. Blast being short. Harry jumped to try and get a better look. But as his feet came crashing to the floor, the oil lamp rattled slightly on the night table, and Harry decided to find another solution. A broken lamp would definitely not do him any good.

Trying one last time, Harry stretched his right arm as high as it would go and ran his fingertips along the edge to feel for the stones, but just then, the muscles in his underarm tightened painfully, and Harry yanked his hand back, holding his arm close to his body.

"Damn!" he breathed, massaging under his arm and rotating his shoulder, "_Ouch…"_

Sighing in frustration, Harry turned and spotted a trunk resting at the edge of Sirius's large, four-poster bed. And suddenly forgetting about the pain, Harry walked over to the trunk and pushed it a few inches toward the wardrobe with the side of his foot and calf. Finding that it was only moderately heavy, Harry was able to scoot it the rest of the way with two more forceful, brisk shoves.

Trunk in position, Harry hopped up and peered inside.

Nothing.

"Oh, come _on_…" Harry felt throwing out a particularly vial swear word—the one that sometimes caused Hermione to pinch his arm, but to his surprise, he caught himself just in time. If he was going to cut back, he figured he might as well start now.

Harry remained standing on the trunk for another moment, guessing where Sirius could have stored his collection. Deciding that his godfather could have stuck them anywhere, Harry stepped down, taking care not to jostle the lamp again. He'd just have to go back downstairs and ask Sirius to come up and help him.

However, this time, Harry noticed his godfather's gleaming initials on the opposite side, along with the Gryffindor crest.

_His school trunk! _Harry thought excitedly.

He crouched down immediately.

The boy pushed the trunk away from the wardrobe so he was facing the latch. But Harry stopped. Sitting back on his heels, Harry bit his lip and cracked his knuckles. His fingertips itched.

_This isn't mine_, Harry admonished himself.

He pressed his fists into his thighs and pushed himself up a bit.

"It's probably just full of old clothes or something," Harry whispered aloud, and continued the rest of the conversation in his head: _I'll just take a quick look. If I don't see any parchment, I'll move it back and go downstairs_.

Gingerly, Harry snapped open the latch, and lifted the lid a few inches. Among other things, it was full of parchment. The prickling in his stomach intensified.

Reaching in, Harry grabbed a pile of papers. Shifting his position, so that he was sitting cross-legged, the boy plopped the small pile into his jean-clad lap and was startled by the large, fancy scrawl on the front of the first piece of parchment: Harold James Potter.

Harry's birth certificate.

The boy's heart seemed to liquefy and drip into his stomach.

"I didn't even know I had one of those!" Harry breathed excitedly to himself.

Without paying attention to what he was doing, Harry picked up everything else in his lap and chucked it back into the trunk. And in one fierce movement, the boy kicked the heavy mass back to its original position against the dark green comforter.

Stretching his legs out in front of him, Harry's heart pounded as he opened the folded certificate and caught a small glimpse of a tiny footprint in faded ink when his godfather's voice made him jerk so violently that he tossed aside the certificate and yelped.

"Let me guess…you've taken my advice, and you're looking for socks…"

Harry had spun around, clutching his pounding chest, breathing heavily as he gaped at Sirius.

The man said nothing. He simply raised his brow as he leaned against the door frame. In his hand he held a heavy, lumpy bag that could be filled with nothing other than the misplaced collection of stones.

* * *

TBC...

Thanks for all of the lovely reviews! I must admit, they are like chocolate to me. Keep them coming; tell me what you liked, what you think may happen, throw a few questions at me, give me constructive criticism--I love it ALL. You guys are the best!

And...okay, okay, Harry learns from some of his mistakes, but if he were perfect, he wouldn't be Harry. Right? Right. The important thing is that he tries. lol.

Thanks again for reading! I'll try my absolute best to have a new chapter out before next weekend :)


	7. Chapter 7

As Harry stared at Sirius with wide eyes, his mouth instantly became dry as the words attempted to climb up his throat. Focusing on the velvet-like bag that was filled to bursting, Harry felt as if he'd swallowed a handful of the multicolored stones. After the hammering of his heart had subsided from his godfather's unexpected intrusion, a heavy nervousness settled in Harry's stomach.

He knew Sirius was waiting for him to say something, but Harry felt like his tongue was frozen.

_Bloody hell, I did it again_, the boy thought soberly as he gazed up at his godfather with a look that seemed to beg for mercy and plead innocence simultaneously.

But somehow in the midst of his guilt-ridden clumsiness, Harry was able to deduce a level of calm in Sirius's face that appeared more expectant rather than outraged. This placidness helped ease the knot of tension that had buried itself so deeply—so quickly—in Harry's stomach that it had almost stung.

And he relaxed the tiniest bit.

"Looking for these?" Sirius inquired casually as he dangled the heavy sack from its rope-like draw strings and used his shoulder to push himself away from the doorframe he had been leaning against.

Harry twisted his torso the rest of the way around and leaned on his hip as he kept himself elevated with his right palm pressed firmly against the floor. His recently discovered birth certificate slid delicately off of his lap and onto the floor. Harry watched it drift feather-like for a brief second before settling.

"I…yeah, I was," Harry answered quietly as he gazed at the dense, cream-colored document a bit longer before averting his eyes to the fingers that were absently picking at the seam of his jeans.

The boy held his breath, inwardly wincing as he waited.

"What did you find?" Sirius gently asked as he lowered his outstretched arm.

Harry snapped his head up immediately at the man's docile tone. Sirius counteracted his godson's surprised visage with a small wink that, oddly, caused Harry's heart to twinge with a different form of guilt—an ache that consisted of a mingled sense of self-conviction and appreciation for his patient godfather. Harry reached out for the discarded certificate before scooting back on his seat to lean against the large trunk.

Wordlessly, and a bit reluctantly, Harry held it out for Sirius to see. The man raised an eyebrow and moved closer to his godson before taking a look at the document. Sirius perused it as he slowly sat down on top of the closed lid. Harry shifted over a little to make room for his godfather and watched his face intently for a reaction.

"Can I look at it?" Harry asked softly after a minute.

Sirius glanced down at Harry's upturned face and softened his expression to one of tender melancholy. It was one of those looks where Harry could tell exactly what his godfather was thinking without even asking for confirmation. One of those moments where the two simply connected without intent.

Reaching out his free hand, Sirius smoothed Harry's fringe back from his forehead before offering the certificate. Harry accepted it, delicately fingering the musty parchment similarly to the way one would handle a child's painting, still wet and glimmering. As he set it to balance on his outstretched legs and carefully pinched the corner to unfold it, Sirius slid down off of the trunk and sat next to Harry, his knees drawn up slightly so he could rest his elbows.

Harry hesitated. Maybe it was the fact that the nearness of his godfather radiated a contagious strength…or maybe it was because the man hadn't yelled at him, and that surprised Harry into being spontaneously honest… Whatever the reason, Harry turned his head and looked right into Sirius's face.

"I got this from your trunk," the boy whispered, gesturing with a mild jerk of his head. Harry wanted to add a _sorry_ to the brief statement, but he felt like he'd been saying it a lot lately. And it was starting to seem a bit pathetic.

"I know," Sirius replied with a nod. He continued to glance up and down Harry's face. Sirius could tell that the boy was chewing on the insides of his cheeks.

Harry stared at him for a short while longer. He wanted to add something and felt his face beginning to warm at his own lack of explanation. However, Harry didn't know what else to say. So he simply nodded and dragged his eyes back to the unfurled document on his lap.

And Harry knew without making a verbal promise that he would never search through Sirius's things again. Today had been the first and last time that would happen, regardless what interesting, mysterious items lay within his godfather's quarters.

Sirius knew too. Harry didn't even have to meet Sirius's eyes to sense this.

"Look at that tiny foot," Sirius said as he traced his finger just above the muted ink, "…four, five six…six?!," the man exclaimed, apparently counting the impossibly small toes, "Oh, wait, no…only five. Good thing, Harry, I was worried for a minute," Sirius joked in mock-solemnity.

Harry smiled and chortled under his breath. He suddenly felt the urge to lean his against Sirius's shoulder. But of course, he wouldn't. Thirteen year olds didn't do that. Not that Harry could remember having leant his head against _anyone_…even when he was very young.

"Your dad had the messiest handwriting I've ever seen," Sirius continued as he pointed toward the bottom right corner of the certificate, "Look, Bub."

Harry had been so engrossed in trying to picture himself as a baby that he had almost forgotten. Squinting at the faded, unfamiliar signature, the boy knew almost immediately that the slant and curl of his father's penmanship wasn't remotely similar to the distinct scrawl on the letters he'd nicked from Remus's library.

However, any inkling of disappointment was currently overshadowed by the wonder of viewing this tangible evidence of his parents' existence. Harry held the paper an inch away from his face as he studied the minutely jagged edges of the dried ink.

_My dad dipped his quill into this ink once_, Harry thought, fascinated. He couldn't believe how something so ordinary suddenly became so intriguing.

Gently, Sirius grasped the edge of the certificate between two fingers and lowered it from the boy's eyes that were narrowed in deep concentration behind his glasses.

But Harry continued to stare.

Lightly, he traced the contours of the _L_ in Lily with the tip of his small forefinger; his mother's signature was tidy and small, almost how he expected his mum to be if she were alive.

Harry looked up at Sirius. His green eyes were heavy with longing and confusion. Harry was shocked to discover that his godfather's eyes were misted over. But he didn't look particularly sad. Rather, Sirius simply gazed at the antique reminder in poignant, but fond remembrance. The man cleared his throat.

"If you'd like, you can take this and put it somewhere safe in your bedroom," Sirius said gruffly as he motioned to the birth certificate in his godson's hands.

Harry fixed his eyes on the fragile document a bit longer before carefully folding it in half.

"Will you keep it safe for me?" Harry asked, holding it out to Sirius.

He took the certificate from Harry without saying anything for a long moment. Balancing it in his palm almost as if he were cradling the parchment, Sirius finally looked right into Harry's eyes.

"Yes, I will," he answered quietly, sincerely.

Harry smiled.

Unexpectedly, Sirius gently grasped the back of Harry's neck and leaning over, he roughly kissed the top of the boy's head before briskly standing up and making his way to the door.

Harry wasn't really sure whether to be embarrassed or shocked. Either way, he simply remained seated, suddenly feeling the need to bite his fingernails.

Parchment still in hand, Sirius slid the bag of stones over to Harry with the side of his foot.

"If you can find it, there's a round, bright blue one somewhere in that bag. Your dad always liked that one. Did I tell you that?"

Harry shook his head, "Huh-uh," he muttered as tucked his feet under his thighs so that he was sitting cross-legged.

"Keep it," Sirius replied over his shoulder with a warm smile as he turned and walked down the corridor.

And weighing the bulging sack in his hands, Harry loosened the drawstring and plunged his hand deep into the cold stones. He knew exactly which one Sirius meant.

It was his favorite too.

* * *

Two mornings later, Harry was sitting at the breakfast table, flipping his spoon over and over in the milk that remained in his cereal bowl.

"Put your feet on the floor," Sirius told Harry as he took a long sip from his coffee mug and turned to the next page of the Daily Prophet. Harry moved his feet out from under his thighs and dropped them heavily to hang absently in front of the legs of the chair.

"So that means he can come, right?" Harry asked as he banged his heels lightly against the chair. His toes barely scraped the ground when he was sitting up properly for meals.

Sirius peered into his mug as he swirled the last dredges of dark coffee around in the bottom, "I told you I'd owl Molly after breakfast."

"Well, yeah I know but—"

"_Well_ then," Sirius interrupted as he set down his mug and placed his forearms on top of the flattened newspaper, "we'll just have to wait and see what she thinks, all right?"

"But that could take days…" Harry replied with a mild huff.

Rising, Sirius collected Harry's cereal bowl and his own empty mug and walked over to the sink.

"You're doing it again," his godfather informed the boy dryly as he dumped the milk down the sink and turned the faucet on to rid the basin of the cloudy residue.

"Doing what?" Harry demanded as he swiveled in his seat and watched Sirius rinse out his mug.

"The whining thing," Sirius answered as he turned around and leaned against the countertop, supporting himself with the heels of his hands, "I'm not sure I can handle it at eight-thirty in the morning…"

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment, "Oh..." he replied absently, "Am I really?"

Sirius nodded, "You were dangerously close to full-fledged whinging," he informed matter-of-factly.

"I was not," Harry retorted in amusement, "you're exaggerating…"

"Am I?" Sirius inquired, cocking his head and raising an eyebrow. He pushed himself up to sit on top of the counter, "I see."

"Hey…you don't let me sit up there!" Harry exclaimed, pointing his finger insistently in Sirius's direction.

"Good point," Sirius nodded in agreement and quickly slid down. As he walked into the living room, he briefly ruffled the top of the boy's morning-mussed hair.

Routinely, Harry followed Sirius into the room and plopped down beside him on the sofa. The boy then turned to the side, inched back a half-cushion's length on his bottom and finally lay flat on his back, resting his head on the arm of the sofa.

Sirius, who had jarred with every one of the boy's bouncing movements, gave his godson an incredulous look, "Comfy?" the man asked a bit sarcastically when Harry had finally settled and stilled.

"Er…yeah, actually, I am," Harry said with a laugh. He folded his hands and rested them on his bellybutton.

"Good," Sirius replied, "Now, go into the parlor and get me some parchment and a quill."

"Oh, come on—"

"Please…" Sirius continued, as if the delivery of the "magic word" might do the trick.

Harry closed his eyes and groaned.

"Do this for me and you can go flying until lunch."

Harry propped himself up on his elbows, "Really?"

Sirius nodded.

"Brilliant!" the boy exclaimed and immediately swung his legs off of the couch and ran for the parlor.

"I thought that'd get you moving," Sirius muttered as he listened to Harry trot through the kitchen and into the next room. When he returned only seconds later, Harry held out the requested items for his godfather.

"Here you go."

Sirius took the parchment and quill, "Thanks," he said brightly, "Go ahead and get dressed."

"Okay," Harry exclaimed, his face already flushed with anticipation. He bolted for the stairs.

"Something long-sleeved…" Sirius called out after him. The damp chill in the air refused to subside.

"Okay!" Harry answered loudly as he jogged up the stairs.

Five minutes later, the boy raced into the living room clad in his favorite, faded jeans and a dark blue, long-sleeved cotton shirt.

"Hey, Sirius, I'm going now," Harry hurriedly informed his godfather.

But as he turned to slip into the kitchen to grab his Firebolt from the cupboard, Sirius caught him by the waistband of his jeans and pulled him backwards to land inelegantly in a sitting position on the man's knee.

"Oi!" Sirius began, "Remember what we talked about…"

Harry had turned his head to the side to listen as Sirius spoke in his ear over the boy's shoulder, the vibration of the deep voice rumbling against Harry's back as he leaned against his godfather's chest.

"Yeah, I know," Harry assured him, "I won't fly very far. I'll stay within the wards."

"You're right, you will," Sirius exclaimed determinedly, "And be back before twelve. Keep checking your watch. If I have to come fetch you—"

"What? You'll clobber me?" Harry challenged mirthfully.

"It's highly possible," Sirius replied, giving the boy a playful poke in the side.

Harry laughed loudly as he jerked his torso away from the tickling sensation.

"But seriously, Harry, you're to be careful out there," Sirius continued a bit more soberly.

Harry scooted to the edge of Sirius's knee, his left hand on the arm of the sofa preparing to launch himself upwards, "No, I will," Harry nodded, "I really do want to live to see my fourth year…"

"I'll bet you do," Sirius stated doling out another jab sending Harry into peels of laughter as he rolled off of the man's lap. He dashed into the kitchen to grab his broomstick and slung it over his shoulder as he ran for the door

"Don't forget about Mrs. Weasley!" Harry cried before swinging the door shut behind him.

"Wouldn't dream of it…" Sirius replied softly to no one but himself.

He chuckled and shook his head.

_That may very well be the greatest kid in the world_, Sirius thought.

Reaching for a book to write on, he dipped his quill into the ink that was sitting on the side table next to the sofa and began scratching out a note to Molly. It was several minutes before the smile diminished from his lips.

* * *

It took merely hours for Molly Weasley to consent to Sirius's request. After all, having one less redhead underfoot for a few days was never a bad thing.

On Thursday of that week, Harry waited quite impatiently in the armchair that had once served as a means of his time-out. However, Harry was so excited at the prospect of his friend's arrival that he didn't allow his brain to revel in the remembrance of that particular embarrassment.

Finally at four-thirty, the fireplace hissed and exploded in green flames, spitting out a freckly Ron Weasley and his overnight bag.

"Hey mate!" Ron greeted Harry enthusiastically after regaining his balance and brushing the dust from his trousers.

"Finally!" Harry exclaimed with a broad grin as he pushed himself out of the chair, "Hey, Sirius, Ron's here!" the boy called over his shoulder to his godfather who was reading in the parlor.

Marking his place and setting his book aside, Sirius got up and sauntered into the living room to welcome Harry's friend.

Meanwhile, Harry stood with his hands shoved deep in his jeans' pockets. He suddenly felt a bit awkward. Harry had never had a friend stay the night before. Sure, he'd stayed at the Burrow a couple of summers ago after Ron and the twins had rescued him from his "jail cell" at Privet Drive. But this was the first time he'd had to act as a host, and Harry wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to do.

However, Sirius's carefree and calming personality helped Harry to feel more at ease as he and Ron dragged the boy's things up to Harry's bedroom and unpacked the second-hand duffle, sorting through the games and other interesting joke-shop items that Ron had stuffed into the side pocket.

"Fred and George gave them to me," Ron explained, holding up a multicolored spinning top that appeared to have a small wick protruding from the bottom, "Mum discovered the box of fireworks and stuff they collected from Zonko's under Fred's bed. They gave me a few things before she could throw them out. I reckoned Sirius wouldn't care much if we set a few of these off. You think so, Harry?"

Harry bit his lip as he sat on the edge of his bed. A month ago, he'd have probably agreed completely with Ron. But now he wasn't so sure. Would Sirius let them play with this stuff?

_Maybe if we're really careful_, Harry thought. But was there even such thing as safe-play with fireworks?

"Yeah, mate…maybe," Harry answered with a shrug, hoping this would suffice for now.

Ron replaced the motley items and dropped his bag to the floor. He bounced on Harry's bed as he sat and reclined back on this elbow.

"So what's it like living with Sirius?" Ron asked, "I bet it's wicked. He's the coolest adult I know…"

Harry adjusted his position so he was sitting against his pillows. Truthfully, he wasn't exactly sure where to begin. Harry still thought that Sirius was really cool. But he also turned out to be stricter than the boy had originally thought…not necessarily in a bad way, however. But more importantly, Harry felt safe with Sirius. Safer than he'd ever felt in his entire life.

However, Harry knew he couldn't explain all of this to Ron. Not yet anyway. He settled for a standard, safe reply.

"It's good," the boy stated simply, "I mean, he's fun and all…we joke around a lot."

_It feels a lot like having a dad_, Harry inwardly admitted but knew that relating this information to his best mate was just _not on_. The boy was secretly glad that it wasn't Hermione visiting. Harry was almost sure the relentless girl would press for specifics.

That's what was nice about having Ron as a friend. When it came to sharing thoughts, the boy usually settled for the bare minimum.

"Cool," Ron replied with a smile.

Harry wanted to show Ron the letters he had found, but the boy decided to wait until later tonight when they'd really have time to study them. Now that Harry knew that his dad _wasn't_ the other speaker, the whole matter seemed a bit less vital.

So they contented themselves with several games of Exploding Snap before Sirius called them for dinner. Harry couldn't believe how much he'd missed playing this game with a friend.

At fifteen minutes until six o'clock, the aroma of shepherd's pie wafted up the stairs. Forgetting about the game, Harry and Ron raced each other down to the kitchen. By the time they arrived, the two were a bit sweaty and rather hyper.

Harry caught Sirius's eye as he clambered up to the table and noticed the _look_ immediately—the one that told him to settle down. Flushing slightly and hoping that Ron didn't notice the mild sternness in the man's gaze, Harry took a seat at his usual spot.

The meal passed in humorous comfort. Sirius told some great stories about the Marauder days, particularly the ones about Quidditch. And Harry was inwardly grateful that Sirius remained as "cool" and laid-back as Ron expected.

At least for a while anyway…

TBC…

* * *

Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews! Reading them absolutely makes my day, so please keep them coming :) I'm trying to reply to all of them, so I apologize if I've missed you.

And sorry that this chapter took so long to post! I've had quite the busy week, and every time I sat down to write, I felt like I was going to fall asleep on the keys...lol. I've been barely surviving on Starbucks...well, and your flattering feedback :)

More about the letters in the next chapter—kind of a turning point in the story. And yes, a tiny bit of a cliffhanger at the end of this chapter, but don't worry, Sirius won't embarrass Harry too badly or anything. ;)

Question: Do you guys picture Gary Oldman as Sirius in this story? Because I just realized that I kind of do...


	8. Chapter 8

"So how does this work?" Ron asked Sirius as he and the two boys stood hunched over synthetic wood-covered record player that currently sat on a table in Sirius's room.

Harry peered between the shoulders of his best friend and his godfather, somewhat interested, but not nearly as fascinated as Ron over the whole ordeal. He'd seen a record player before, not to mention had felt the vibration of Dudley's stereo system through his walls a hundred times.

Harry yawned inconspicuously, trying not to make any noise as he did so. It was well after ten o'clock at night, and Harry was used to going to bed around eleven. For the most part, Harry had stuck to the bedtime he'd made for himself, so Sirius never bothered him about it.

"See this?" Sirius held up a dusty, black record so Ron could see.

"Yeah," Ron eagerly answered.

Sirius turned around to show Harry and caught his godson mid-yawn. Harry nodded sleepily in acknowledgement when he noticed that Sirius was looking at him.

As Ron listened intently to Sirius's explanation and demonstration, Sirius reached an arm behind him, and without turning around, the man rubbed a few comforting circles between Harry's shoulder blades. Harry's head absently bobbed side-to-side a bit as he allowed Sirius to rub his back for a moment.

Sirius could tell that Harry wasn't as into this as his ginger-haired friend. But that was all right.

"Lead who?" Ron inquired, squinting as he glanced up at Sirius.

Sirius bit his lip to suppress a chuckle, "Led Zeppelin. A Muggle band—from before you were born," Sirius clarified, turning up the volume on the record player to let Ron listen to a guitar solo. "I listened to them mostly during the seventies. My parents hated it."

Harry moved back a few steps and hoisted himself up on Sirius's bed. Watching the two, he lay back on several stacked pillows.

"Where'd you get this stuff?" Ron wondered, gesturing with the empty record cover he held in his hand.

"From Remus," Sirius replied as he turned and leaned his back against the wall, giving his godson a fond wink when he spotted him sprawled out on top of the covers, his cheek resting against the pillow, blinking heavily as he continued surveying the scene by the record player.

Ron gave a short, high chortle, "Professor Lupin listens to this as well?"

"Yes," Sirius said with a smile. "I suppose I converted him."

"Wicked," Ron breathed.

All of a sudden, Harry perked up. "What about my dad?" he asked, sitting up a bit and rubbing the back of his hand briefly across his nose to scratch.

"Hmm?" Sirius responded, turning his attention toward Harry. "Let's see…your dad was into…" Sirius twisted his mouth in thought, "The Beatles."

Harry smiled, "Cool."

He didn't know a ton about Muggle music from back then, but everybody in England knew about The Beatles. And supposedly, they really _were_ cool—exactly as Harry imagined his dad to be.

"So all three of you had one of these record spinners?" Ron continued, drawing Sirius's attention back to himself—much to his delight. The young Weasley was already quite fond of Harry's godfather.

Harry sniffed in amusement at Ron's mistake. And although the scoffing was lost on the redhead, Harry didn't miss the _look_ he got from his godfather. However, Harry gave Sirius a look of his own that clearly asserted a wordless "_What_?"

Sirius rolled his eyes and turned back to Ron to answer his question. "No—just me," he said. "Remus must have gotten one later on, but he gave it to me a couple of months ago since he hasn't listened to it in quite a while."

Ron nodded.

Harry sighed softly. But then he cleared his throat abruptly as if to cover up his unconscious preamble to a whinge. It drove Sirius mad when he complained, and knowing this, Harry tried hard to keep from doing it. But sometimes…

"All right, you two," Sirius stated, pushing himself up from the wall, "Enough of this. Go have fun."

Harry sat up and immediately bounced off of the bed, his gratitude towards his godfather's impeccable intuition radiating from the grin he flashed in Sirius's direction.

"Brilliant," Harry exclaimed, grabbing Ron by the back of the shirt and dragging him out of the room, "Come on, mate…"

Ron looked a bit crestfallen and reluctantly stumbled backward to follow Harry. He tugged his shirt from Harry's grasp as he turned around. "I can walk, you know," Ron mumbled to his friend.

"Harry, come here a minute," Sirius called to his godson.

The boy turned at the sound of his name, making a face when he realized he was being summoned. Harry hoped that Sirius wasn't going to scold him for blowing off Ron's interest in the record player, but his godfather didn't look angry or anything, so Harry walked back into the room.

"Go on," he told Ron who was waiting for him by the door. "I'll be there in a minute. Oh, hey Ron…" Harry continued before his friend could leave, "Set up the chessboard, will you?"

"Sure," Ron replied offhandedly, clearly pondering over the conversation that was about to take place, but whether it was more out of curiosity or jealousy, Harry couldn't really tell.

_Probably both…_Harry finally decided, as he knew how much Ron admired Sirius and enjoyed just being around him.

When Ron had left, Sirius patted the spot next to him on the bed. And Harry obeyed the commanding gesture, plopping down and sitting cross-legged.

"What's up?" Harry asked, trying to sound casual.

"Remus mentioned something about taking the two of you to Diagon Alley on Saturday," Sirius began, surprising Harry with such an unexpected statement. "Would you like to go?"

Harry furrowed his brow, "Erm…yeah, okay," Harry answered, a bit bewildered. "What for?"

Sirius cleared his throat gruffly, "Well," he stated, "he needs to pick up a few things, but mostly, he just wants to take you two for the fun of it, I suppose."

Harry thought for a moment, "I'd kind of rather go with you…" the boy said, sulking ever so slightly as he picked at the cuffs of his shirt.

"You like Remus," Sirius claimed. "It'll be fun."

"What are _you_ going to do?" Harry asked, resting his chin on his right hand as he propped it up by the elbow on his right knee.

"I've got an appointment with Professor Dumbledore—"

"Where?" Harry interrupted, sitting up suddenly. "at Hogwarts?"

Sirius nodded.

"I wanna go…" Harry declared excitedly. "Please, can I go, Sirius?"

"No, Bub, not this time," Sirius answered, shaking his head.

Harry's shoulders slumped.

"Besides," Sirius continued, "Ron will be here. You two can keep each other company. And like I said, you'll have fun with Remus."

Scowling, Harry untucked his legs, letting one dangle off the bed, "We don't need a babysitter, you know…"

"Remus isn't going to _babysit_ you," Sirius said with a frown. "To be honest, it just happened to work out—"

"But I'm thirteen—and Ron's fourteen…"

"Hey," Sirius admonished lightly, giving Harry a tap under the chin. "I know _exactly_ how old you are. I don't need to be told. And please stop interrupting me; let me finish."

Harry felt his cheeks warm at the mild scolding. "Sorry," he muttered, looking down at his hands.

A moment of silence passed, although not necessarily uncomfortably. Sometimes Harry and Sirius just sat quietly when there was nothing to say.

"All right," Sirius said finally. "So I'll let Remus know about Saturday."

Harry only nodded, the chastisement still lingering.

"Go play your game," Sirius encouraged gently, patting Harry's knee twice. "Don't stay up much past midnight, all right? You look tired."

Harry pushed himself up from the bed and stretched. "We won't."

"I'll be downstairs if you need anything," Sirius informed his godson as he stood up as well.

"Okay," Harry replied.

And sensing it was all right leave, Harry began walking towards the door to Sirius's bedroom. His godfather followed closely.

"Did you take your bath last night?" Sirius asked suddenly, closing the door to his bedroom.

Harry turned, his hand poised on the wall, "Er…no."

"Do your guest a favor, then, and hop in the tub before you go to bed…" Sirius said dryly as he walked past Harry to the top of the stairs.

Moving forward until he reached his door, Harry paused, resting his hand on the doorknob. It had obviously taken him a few seconds to register his godfather's words, "Hey, I'm not that dirty…It's only been like…two days," Harry said with a small frown, defending himself against what was probably only a joke—for the most part, anyway.

Sirius didn't acknowledge Harry's attempt at an explanation. Instead he pointed his finger in Harry's direction. "Bath before bed, if you will," he instructed before plodding downstairs.

"Yeah, whatever…" Harry muttered only when Sirius's footsteps had become so distant that the boy was sure his godfather had at least made it to the kitchen. He turned the doorknob, grinning when he saw the chess board set up, the weathered pieces perfectly placed among the black and white squares.

* * *

An hour later, Harry and Ron were lying on their stomachs, heads propped up at the foot of Harry's bed as they admired the handful of fireworks that Ron had laid out before them.

Glancing at the stiff wicks protruding from the variety of paper-covered shapes, Harry's stomach knotted as the muted smell of gun powder wafted to his nostrils.

Harry knew very well that he and Ron should put the whole mess away and start getting ready for bed, but Ron was speaking excitedly about the massive colors that were supposed to explode from the ends of the fireworks. And Harry didn't know how to tell him that Sirius would have a fit if he found out.

"We could wait and light one when Sirius goes to see Dumbledore tomorrow," Harry suggested, outwardly nonchalant. His insides, however, were churning into goo.

"But it'll be light then, won't it?" Ron replied, turning a bit on his hip to look at Harry. "Sirius won't care if we just do one out the window. Besides, there aren't any clouds tonight. Fred and George said that's the best time to light them…"

_How do you know he won't care?_ Harry thought, a bit grudgingly.

But truthfully, Harry was aware that Ron hadn't witnessed the version of Sirius Black that only Harry knew existed…the Sirius that made sure he took a bath and had a way of reprimanding Harry so thoroughly with just his eyes. The Sirius that ruffled his hair and stocked up on his favorite cereal.

Harry didn't want to share _that _Sirius with his friend. Unlike Harry, Ron had always had parents. Harry couldn't explain it, but he felt very fond and protective of his godfather, even though Sirius had a distinct way of settling Harry right down…and sure, Harry had to admit, it was a bit humbling at times. But after tonight, Harry realized that he was oddly content in allowing Ron to develop his own idea about Sirius.

"So this one is kind of like a bottle rocket?" Harry asked, holding up a thin firework.

"A what?" Ron wondered, scrunching up his nose.

"Oh, sorry…Muggle thing," Harry clarified with a shake of his head. "I just meant that it doesn't make much noise, right? Just a _pop_?"

"Right," Ron answered. "Fred told me that there's not any color that comes from that one. It just goes up really high."

"You're _sure_?" Harry demanded, pushing himself up and sitting back on his heels.

Ron pushed himself up as well.

"Yeah, mate, pretty sure."

Harry thought hard for a minute. He really didn't want to do this. But he also wasn't sure how to explain his reasoning to Ron. And besides, they were only going to light just this one—and Ron had said it was a quiet one. The living room didn't face the back yard, so Sirius wouldn't be able to see any sort of spark.

"Fine," Harry sighed. "But just this one, all right?"

"Excellent," Ron said, beaming broadly.

* * *

Sirius put down the book he was reading, listening intently for a moment. It had been very quiet for the past half-hour, and the silence had been a bit unnerving. He'd heard the boys' excited shouts as the chess pieces were smashed to bits, no doubt. But now it was quiet. Too quiet. And Sirius hadn't heard the water running through the pipes, so obviously, Harry hadn't drawn his bath yet.

However, only a split second before Sirius had marked a place in his book, he could have sworn he heard an odd, muffled _pop_ in the distance. He leaned forward, waiting for another one.

The silence buzzed in Sirius's ears.

Then all of a sudden, the sharp sound of glass shattering rang from upstairs followed by a stifled swear word that could have only reverberated out of his godson's mouth.

Sirius sprang into action. Jumping up from his chair, the novel tumbled off his lap and fell to the ground with a thud. Sirius jogged towards the stairs, taking two at a time as he sprinted upwards to Harry's bedroom.

* * *

"Dammit, Ron, _do_ something!" Harry shouted frantically, ducking as glowing red firework whizzed past his head.

Ron was crouched down beside the bed near Harry's bathroom door, covering his head with both hands, "What?!" he called out in a panic. "_What_ do I _do_?"

"I dunno!" Harry yelled, ducking again as the thin rocket zinged around the room, bouncing off of the walls as if it were made of rubber. "Just _do_ _something_! This thing is after me!"

Standing up a bit straighter and flinching every few seconds as the firework came dangerously close to his head, Ron held his arms up in the air as if he were going to try and either catch it or bat it out the window. But as the rocket sped forward toward the boy's head once more, Ron gave a yelp dove on top of the bed, cowering once again.

Realizing that Ron was obviously worthless in this whole endeavor, Harry growled as he moved forward and ripped the comforter out from underneath his friend. Leaping on top of the mattress, Harry shook out the blanket, and held it up with both hands. He followed the zooming explosive intently with his eyes for several seconds.

And taking a deep breath, Harry pounced. Jumping high off of the bed, Harry squeezed his eyes shut as he threw the blanket over the firework. He landed hard on the wood floor, so forcefully that he immediately fell to his hands and knees.

The firework bucked unhappily, trapped underneath the comforter.

Suddenly, the door to Harry's bedroom flew open. Harry snapped his head up, looking straight into his godfather's worried face and heaving chest.

"Harry, _what_ in the—" Sirius began, but trailed off as he surveyed the chaotic scene—an oil lamp smashed to bits on the floor near Harry's bedside table, the deep gold liquid pooled in a perfectly round puddle against the wood…a redhead sprawled on his stomach, cowering on Harry's stripped bed…the floor littered with random debris…and Harry, on all-fours…his blanket smoking…

_Smoking!_

In a flash, Sirius reached down and grabbed his godson around the waist, hoisting him off of the floor.

"No, Sirius!" Harry cried as he rested heavily in the crook of his godfather's arm. "I've trapped it!"

But Sirius was quick, and instead of taking the time to reply, he whipped his wand out of his pocket, and continuing to hold Harry with one arm, he grasped his wand firmly with the other and pointed it at the smoldering quilt.

"_Aguamenti_!" Sirius barked.

A cool stream of water spewed out from the end.

Wand poised, Sirius also took this opportunity to repair the broken oil lamp and banish the mess.

Harry listened to the harsh sizzle, watching the steam rise from his blanket as he grasped Sirius's forearm, breathing heavily.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the brash chirping of crickets echoing beyond the glass pane of the window, accompanied by the occasional crunch of bedsprings as Ron sat up slowly.

Sirius released Harry, gazing down at the barely visible wisps of smoke, one hand laced through the dark hair at the top of his head, the other on his hip. It seemed to Harry that his godfather was possibly trying to make sense of the whole situation.

Gingerly, Harry backed up a few steps and sat down next to Ron on the sheet-covered mattress. He could feel Ron looking at him, but Harry wouldn't make eye-contact.

They were definitely in trouble, whether Ron knew it or not.

"What happened?" Sirius demanded, not loudly, but Harry could sense the underlying sternness in the man's tone. Harry stared into his lap.

"_Harry…_"

The boy jerked his head up.

But miraculously, Ron spoke up first.

"It was a firework," Ron declared nervously, clearly distressed at the lack of jollity on Sirius's face. "But something went wrong with it…it was supposed to just shoot off like a bottle rocket…" Ron looked at Harry for confirmation.

Harry nodded miserably.

"What are you two doing with bottle rockets?" Sirius inquired with a frown, glancing between both boys.

"I brought them," Ron mumbled, a bit red in the face. "My brothers gave them to me."

Sirius waited a short while before speaking, "I see," he said soberly with a nod. He reached down and flipped back the blanket. "Zonko's?"

Harry and Ron snapped their heads up simultaneously.

"Yeah…" Harry replied, tilting his head in a questioning manner. "How'd you know?"

Crouching down to pick up the sopping wet firework, Sirius began bundling up the soiled quilt.

"This isn't a bottle rocket," the man informed after examining it for a few seconds. He shifted his eyes up to the bed. "It's a boomerang explosive. They've been around forever."

Ron shook his head, "Those bloody prats…"

"Let me see the rest of them, kiddo," Sirius instructed to Ron as he stood up, who appeared to be completely and pitifully put-out by every aspect of the night's misdeed.

Wordlessly, Ron slid off of Harry's bed and reached for his duffle, pulling out a handful of various Zonko's products from the zippered pocket.

"These are staying with me until you leave, all right?" Sirius told the redhead as he accepted the pile.

Ron nodded humbly, his usually pale face very pink.

"Harry, downstairs," Sirius commanded placidly, gesturing towards the door with a jerk of his head.

"What for?" Harry cried. "My room's a mess, Sirius…"

"I'll clean it up, mate," Ron offered before Sirius could open his mouth. By the look on Ron's face, it was obvious that he was sending Harry a silent message, telling him _not to push it_.

Dragging his feet, Harry followed Sirius out of the bedroom. His godfather closed the door softly behind him.

"Wait for me in the living room, please," Sirius stated. "I'll be down in a minute."

Harry moved like a zombie toward top of the stairs, looking over his shoulder as he heard Sirius open the door to his own bedroom. The man was undoubtedly stashing the goods, Harry figured.

As Harry trudged glumly down the stairs, he was unsure whether to feel nervous or pissed off at Ron for bringing the stupid fireworks in the first place. He paused at the bottom step, deciding he'd just wait for his godfather and attempt to explain before they got to the living room where there were too many chairs and not enough escape routes. Harry leaned against the banister, staring at his toes.

A door clicked shut from above.

Harry straightened up, waiting for his godfather to appear around the corner.

When he did, Sirius didn't look any happier than he did in Harry's bedroom.

Harry cringed, subconsciously backing down a step as his godfather approached. His brain quickly scraped the bottom of the lame-excuse barrel. "I didn't even know Ron brought them until he showed me, Sirius!" Harry explained in a desperate whisper.

But before Harry had time to ponder over the validity of that particular statement, Sirius grabbed his arm in one hand and turning him a bit, brought the flat of his hand down hard across Harry's behind with a muffled _thwap_.

Harry flinched and grabbed hold of the banister as his body lurched forward from the impact.

Still holding on to the railing loosely with his left hand, Harry reached back and rubbed his hand over the stinging spot on his rear end that his godfather had just walloped, looking over his shoulder as if he were checking for an imprint on the seat of his trousers.

"_Ow…_" Harry breathed accusingly, glancing up only once and very fleetingly at Sirius as he continued to nurse the area.

Sirius's insides coiled, the guilt immediately engulfing his senses, when his eyes were pierced by his godson's bespecled green stare. His first instinct was to apologize to Harry, but he didn't. Nothing would be more counterproductive than _that_.

"Go," Sirius commanded quietly, trying to ignore the look on Harry's face—the bottom lip wedged tightly between the boy's teeth. "I'm right behind you." Sirius gestured toward the living room.

Harry, fighting to hide his hurt feelings, moved swiftly away from Sirius into the next room, plopping down heavily on the sofa when he reached it, leaning the side of his face against the back the cushion as he rested his lower back against the arm. He stared hard at material of the sofa as he absently picked at a cushion with his fingers, waiting for the inevitable scolding.

Tentatively studying his godson's deliberate aloofness, Sirius entered the living room and took a seat on the other side of the sofa, facing Harry.

Sirius cleared his throat before speaking. He steeled himself, forcibly ignoring the doleful look on Harry's face. This was no time to go soft.

"What in Merlin's name could you possibly have been _thinking_, Harry James?" Sirius scolded, speaking firmly, yet keeping his voice low.

Harry shifted uncomfortably but wouldn't look at his godfather; he shrugged.

"You don't know?"

Another insolent shrug.

And keeping his demeanor neutral, Sirius took a deep breath, knowing exactly what needed to be said. This unresponsiveness from Harry wasn't going to cut it.

"Well you know what I think?" Sirius continued, leaning into the cushions to try and meet Harry's eyes. But the boy wouldn't budge. "I think getting your bottom tanned once wasn't enough, apparently…"

Harry sat up abruptly, inhaling sharply and promptly submerging into a state of noticeable panic.

"If you don't realize what you did wrong, here, Harry—"

"No, I do," Harry croaked, shaking his head emphatically. "I _do_, Sirius…"

_That was all it took_…

"Fireworks are _dangerous_," Sirius reprimanded sternly—more sternly than Harry had ever experienced. "And I could care less if you're lighting a sparkler for a birthday cake…when you're around fire, you need to be careful. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded quickly, clearly still in distress over the destiny of his posterior.

Sirius blanched. He'd never, ever been called 'sir' before. Enough of _this_ rubbish.

Softening his expression, Sirius scooted forward on the sofa, "Listen to me, Bub," Sirius said gently, "I'm telling you this, because I know firsthand how dangerous these things can be. Your dad got a pretty nasty burn on the inside of his elbow from a roman candle when he was a bit younger than you…"

"That's a Muggle firework…"

"I know it," Sirius agreed. "Scared your grandpa out of his wits, I can tell you that."

"Was he mad?" Harry asked, seeming to have relaxed slightly at his godfather's familiar, docile tone. However, the boy was still flushed about the cheeks and ears from the admonishment.

Sirius snorted in amusement, "You bet your arse."

Harry smiled a bit at his godfather's slip-up with language.

It was quiet for a moment. But then Sirius looked right into Harry's eyes.

"Do you have any idea what it would do to me if you got hurt in any way?" Sirius exclaimed very quietly.

Harry's stomach clenched. Sirius was gazing at him with that indecipherable expression that made Harry either want to tear up or hide his face in the cushion. But he wasn't a baby. And Harry would do neither.

Instead, he stared back very solemnly.

"Yeah…" Harry finally whispered, "I do."

Giving his godson a crooked smile full of affection, Sirius nodded, "All right then. We won't speak about this anymore."

Harry nodded as well, relieved, but still a bit angry at himself for acting like such a child. And not possessing the ability to control it.

"You'd better go check on Ron," Sirius said as he stood up, "He was looking quite worried when we left him."

"That's because he thinks you're really cool," Harry replied rather honestly. "He wouldn't have wanted you to be angry with him…"

"Really?"

"Yeah…" Harry answered, yawning again.

The two walked together in silence toward the staircase for a moment.

"You called me 'sir'," Sirius suddenly spoke up.

"Huh?"

"Just a few minutes ago…"

"I did?" Harry asked, looking over at Sirius.

"You did. It was…odd."

"Well…" Harry replied after pondering over the matter for a bit, "I thought I was gonna get it. It just sort of…flew out, I guess."

"I see," Sirius said, straining to keep from smiling.

"Don't worry," Harry told his godfather, immediately catching on to the man's mirth, "I doubt it'll happen again…"

The ghost of a laugh played about Sirius's features as he spoke, "Better not."

* * *

Opening the doorknob to his bedroom, a new, clean quilt in hand, Harry had gone over in his head at least a half a dozen times in the past three minutes his explanation to Ron of what had gone on downstairs, fully prepared to spit out a small, white-lie. Unless, of course, Ron heard the swat-on-the-stairs. And then Harry's whole plan would be shot to hell.

However, the boy was shocked to find Ron sitting cross-legged on the bed, an open book at his feet, surrounded by a pile of letters.

The room was clean, and judging by the strewn parchment, Ron had grown bored and discovered the hidden notes under Harry's pillow when he was tidying up.

"You seriously don't know whose writing this is, mate?" Ron wondered incredulously, holding out the parchment when he saw Harry enter the room.

Stunned from Ron's sudden discovery of what Harry had tried to keep hidden over the past week and a bit puzzled from forcing his fuzzy brain to switch subjects so abruptly, Harry frowned as he took the letter from Ron. Throwing the quilt down beside him, Harry sat down on the bed.

"Look at the Ds and As, Harry…I've seen a ton of them like this on my essays…"

And squinting down at the parchment, Harry's stomach felt like it was filled with liquid fire. Harry had been too obsessed with discovering an item of his dad's that he hadn't focused on the obvious…

He'd seen them on his essays too.

"But it can't be…" Harry whispered.

"I almost guarantee it, mate," Ron said, scooting forward to get a better look.

And Ron was right. The writing was larger and less neat; however, no one—_no one_ penned a 'D' for 'dreadful' in this type of spiky, curved scrawl.

No one but Professor Snape.

"Bloody hell," Harry breathed, gripping the paper feverishly.

"You said it."

TBC...

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: As promised, here's another chapter! I really hope you guys enjoy this one. The end's a doozy. lol. Your reviews were very lovely for the last chapter. Thank you very, very much for them. They really cheered me up during such a crappy week. So thanks again. All right, you can read now. ;)**

Harry and Ron were lying on their stomachs again, Harry now dressed in his baggy pajama bottoms and a soft t-shirt and the other boy clad in his traditional paisley pajamas.

But this time, Harry had unloaded several crumpled, graded potions essays from the bottom of his school trunk and the notebook he'd bought this past year at Flourish and Blotts in which he'd stuffed and stored his loose parchment, much to Hermione's dismay. He was thoroughly studying the wrinkled paper strewn out along the edge of his bed.

Sure enough, the handwriting on both sets of parchment was very similar—not identical but clearly akin. And the _D_ was indeed Professor Snape's.

Contorting a foot behind him to scratch the back of his other leg as he lay sprawled on his belly, Harry rested heavily on his elbows as he continued to squint thoughtfully at the parchment.

"See, I told you," Ron exclaimed, reaching over and pointing at one of Harry's essays, "Just look at that 'D'..."

Harry glanced down closely at the curled edge of his essay over the many uses of asphodel in potion-making.

"Oi…there's another one," Ron quipped, leaning over, gesturing towards another one of Harry's not-so-spectacular grades.

"Hey, why don't you shut up…" Harry cried, frowning at his friend who was trying to stifle a laugh but not having much luck, "It's not like you do much better in that class. Besides, that git hates me."

Ron pushed himself up and sat back on his heels, "Sorry, mate," he said soberly, "I wasn't slamming you on purpose, I just…"

"Hey, be quiet a minute," Harry interrupted hastily in a whisper as he sat up next to Ron, a few old essays clutched tightly in his right hand, "I think I heard footsteps."

"Sirius?" Ron breathed.

"Who _else_, you dolt?!" Harry retorted frantically, poised in a crouch position, ready to take a flying leap onto his pillow if the doorknob happened to turn. After all, it was well after midnight, and although Sirius hadn't specifically given them a bedtime, Harry knew that his godfather would expect the lights to be out by now.

Ron held his hand up, motioning for Harry to be quiet, and both boys listened again…carefully.

A creak on the wooden steps.

And in a flash, Harry swore under his breath as he bolted for his pillow.

"Ron!" Harry called out quietly to his redheaded mate who was frozen in an odd position—hunched over on his knees, bum in the air. "Quick…get under the covers!"

And the tall boy hurriedly did so as he snapped out of his momentary stupor. Harry grabbed the pillow next to him and tossed it at Ron, almost hitting him full on in the face. However, Ron caught it just in time, and grasping a handful of pillowcase, he swung it underneath his head at the foot of the bed and scurried underneath the quilt, kicking out his long legs in an attempt to stretch out the quilt over his bare feet.

At the last second, Harry sat up again and swept all of the parchment together in his hand in one swift movement, and shoving it underneath his pillow with a muffled _crunch_, the boy threw his head back into the feathers.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut while Ron pretended to snore.

However, after a few seconds of the faulty snoring, Harry reached out under the covers and nudged Ron sharply in the foot.

He stopped snoring.

The two boys lay in tense silence for a moment. But the door remained closed.

Suddenly, Harry heard a whisper from the far end of the bed.

"Is he coming?"

"Dunno," Harry replied, but he didn't hear any more footsteps, and Sirius wasn't the type of person to sneak around, "No, I don't think so…"

Ron sighed and propped himself a bit on one elbow.

Harry felt his stomach muscles uncoil as he turned over. And suddenly noticing that he'd forgotten to remove his glasses, Harry grasped them with one hand and pulled them off of his face. He folded them together against his chest, and reaching over, Harry dropped them onto the bedside table.

Turning back toward the plump plush of the pillow, Harry snuggled sleepily into the mattress and pressed his face against the smooth cotton, yawning deeply.

"Maybe we should just go to bed, mate," Ron suddenly spoke up. His voice was growing thick and scratchy with exhaustion as well. "We can look at them again in the morning. I'm tired."

"Yeah, me too," Harry mumbled, adjusting his hip in a comfortable position before tucking his hands underneath the pillow, "We'll figure it out tomorrow…"

"All right."

Harry closed his eyes. The minute his heavy lids slid closed, the darkness began to swirl. But somewhere amidst the early stages of delusion, Harry could tell that Ron hadn't settled into his pillow. Unwillingly, the boy wrenched his eyes open and tried to focus on the blurred image of Ron's head at his feet.

"What's the matter?" Harry nearly slurred, blinking lazily.

Harry watched as the small, ginger blur shifted slightly.

"I'm sorry I got you in trouble, mate," Ron said quietly, "I shouldn't have brought the fireworks. That was stupid."

Blushing, Harry squirmed under the quilt. He'd nearly forgotten. And Harry wished that his friend would have too. However, Ron had a funny way of changing subjects abruptly when something exciting occurred, but he always seemed to revisit the discarded issue later.

"I didn't get in trouble," Harry replied, his voice muffled against the pillow, "Sirius just talked to me downstairs. He said my dad got burnt by a firework once…"

"Oh…"

Harry relaxed.

"It's just…I thought…I mean I reckoned I heard…" Ron trailed off, voice barely above a whisper.

And squeezing a handful of pillowcase, Harry thought for certain he was going to die of embarrassment.

_Oh, god…don't say it, _Harry thought desperately as a prickly heat ran through his body.

His tired brain was suddenly working double-time to try and conjure up a decent explanation if Ron were to say what Harry suspected he would…

But he didn't.

"Was Sirius really mad?" Ron continued softly after a short while.

Harry felt dizzy, but he supposed he could offer Ron a truthful answer without relating every detail of the stern conversation.

"No, not really," Harry replied quietly, "He was just kind of worried. But he didn't yell or anything…Sirius doesn't really do that."

And to be honest, Harry _was_ telling the truth in that aspect. But the boy also decided that Ron didn't need to know that his godfather's quiet disappointment was almost worse.

"It wasn't a big deal," Harry informed his friend. Even though, really, to Harry…it was. "I didn't get punished or anything."

This seemed to satisfy Ron, as he simply nodded.

"Good," the redhead responded after a while.

And Harry, feeling that he owed his friend _something_ for failing to mention—maybe purposely—whether or not he'd seen or at least heard how hard Sirius had smacked his rear end, the sleepy teenager sighed and rubbed his eyes deeply with his knuckles as he spoke to Ron:

"He really likes you, you know…"

Lying back on his pillow but brightening considerably, Ron smiled, "Who, Sirius? He does?"

"Of course," Harry said, burying his hands under his pillow again, "He's never shown me his Led Zeppelin record before…"

Harry didn't think it was necessary to mention that it was more than likely because Sirius knew that muggle objects didn't fascinate Harry as much as they would Ron.

"Cool," Ron said, still smiling.

And hazily, Harry returned the grin.

"Hey, Harry, do you think Sirius would know anything about Snape and that note?" Ron asked turning over on his side and gazing toward the headboard of the bed.

"I can't ask him," Harry replied quickly.

"Why not?"

"'Cause he doesn't know that I took that book from Remus's library…" Harry explained, trying hard to swallow the guilt over _that_ incident which, in retrospect, seemed quite measly compared to the recent firework explosion.

"Oh." Ron said thoughtfully, clearly still trying to grasp the idea of Sirius being angry over such a thing.

"But I swear we'll think of something tomorrow morning," Harry promised, choking back a yawn, "I can't believe that Snape and Lupin were friends…or that they talked to each other at least…."

"Me either."

"I knew something was weird," Harry said, mostly to himself.

They lay in silence for a moment that was only broken by a drowsy sigh from Ron. Harry closed his eyes again for a bit. They were slightly sore and itchy, he noticed. However, Harry had to open them one more time to ask his friend a question that had been lingering among his thoughts ever since the two of them climbed in bed.

"Hey, Ron?"

"Mmmm?" the redhead muttered in response, tossing a bit underneath the quilt.

"Do you…erm…have a bedtime at home?" Harry wondered, struggling to shove down the embarrassment that threatened to boil over. But really, there shouldn't be anything humiliating about such a simple question, should there?

Ron didn't answer right away.

_Damn_, Harry inwardly swore, feeling like a prat for asking about something so babyish.

But Ron's answer was surprisingly unpredictable.

"Yeah… Why? Do you?" the tall boy spoke up, seeming unsure of Harry's intention.

"I…" Harry stammered, taken aback by the news, "Yeah. I do. I was just wondering."

"Ten?"

"Huh?" Harry inquired, scratching at the itchy place on his leg again with his big toe.

"At night…" Ron clarified, "Is that when you have to go to bed?"

"No. Eleven."

And suddenly, to Harry's amazement, he didn't feel like such a child anymore. Ron had a bedtime too. An hour earlier even…

"_That_…" Ron began, "is completely unfair."

"Your mum let us stay up late when I spent that month at your house two summers ago…"

"No, she didn't," Ron argued, "We were just kids then…it only seemed later."

_Did it?_

"Maybe, you're right," Harry replied. But why did that seem different?

Ron rolled over on his stomach, "I'm always right, mate."

And lacking a witty retort at such a late hour, Harry simply gave Ron's feet a shove, nearly sending him flying off of the bed.

"Oi!"

"See you in the morning," Harry said, straining not to laugh.

"Knock me off the bed, why don't you…" Ron mumbled, irritated, as he stuffed his feet back under the covers. But receiving no reply, Ron simply squirmed on his stomach once more and took a deep breath into his pillow, "Night."

* * *

It had been quiet for a good half-hour, Sirius noticed, as he stood outside of Harry's bedroom at half-past one o'clock in the morning. Even though a soft light still seeped through the cracks in the door, the peaceful silence on the other side told Sirius that the boys were deeply sleeping. He'd walked by the room a while ago and had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the frantic whispering and metallic crunch of the bedsprings as the two were leaping quickly into bed, no doubt. But even though Sirius knew it was late, he hadn't planned on checking up on them until they were both dreaming and oblivious.

Slowly, he turned the knob, and without making any noise, Sirius carefully pushed the door open. Indeed, Harry and Ron were fast asleep. The quilt was rumpled and spread out over the sleeping boys in an awkward diamond shape. An extra pillow had slipped out from under Ron's head and was resting patiently on the floor. Dead-weight limbs stuck out every which way underneath the covers.

Moving lightly in stocking-feet, Sirius crept forward and leaned over the lanky redhead. Ron's head was dangerously close to slipping off the edge of the bed.

Gently, Sirius cupped the back of the boy's head and pushed it forward onto his pillow. He tugged on the covers a bit in order to stretch the blanket snugly over Ron's shoulder.

Sirius glanced over at his godson, his cheeks slightly flushed in the lamplight. Patting Ron's shoulder, the man stood and tiptoed over to Harry's side of the bed.

The boy was curled up on his side, the sole of his right foot protruding from the quilt.

Crouching down, Sirius grasped the hem of Harry's t-shirt—that had twisted and ridden halfway up his torso—and tried to pull it back down without waking him.

Harry stirred, and Sirius stilled. But the boy only inhaled once, briskly and heavily through his nose and rubbed his face against the pillow, still ensconced in a dream, and sank back into the mattress.

Sirius couldn't help frowning slightly.

A few times when he'd come up to tuck Harry in and the boy had already fallen asleep, Sirius noticed that Harry didn't seem to be resting comfortably—tossing often and muttering every once in a while in the dense fog of slumber.

When that occurred, Sirius usually sat down next to the sleeping boy and dragged the tips of his fingers along Harry's shoulder blades and neck in a soothing manner until he stopped squirming.

Sirius couldn't remember really, but he didn't _think_ James had night terrors with he was young.

Maybe it was just Harry…

Suddenly, Sirius noticed a sharp corner of—parchment maybe?—poking out from underneath his godson's pillow.

Taking care not to crumple the paper or make any noise as he slid it out from underneath Harry's head, Sirius retrieved it and held it up high toward the dim lamplight.

An essay. One of Harry's papers he'd written for potions.

And recognizing the harsh, cold slashes of ink as evidence of Snape's unjust assessment, Sirius fought the urge to crush it into a tight wad and throw it across the room.

Harry was bright. And most definitely undeserving of such poor marks.

Sirius sighed. _Once a greasy bastard, always a greasy bastard_, he thought scathingly.

He laid the wrinkled parchment on the bedside table, confused as to why Harry would have one of Snape's essays under his pillow, but decided not to dwell on it. Sirius pulled the corner of the blanket up to Harry's middle, arranging it just underneath his arms, knowing that the boy didn't like to be smothered up to his neck in bedclothes.

Leaning over, Sirius smoothed the back of his fingers over Harry's warm cheek before turning down the lantern.

And rising, the man exited as delicately as he entered.

* * *

"So tell me again," Sirius said in a tone that begged for clarification, "…you want to go over to Remus's to look in his library for another book?

"Uh huh," Harry answered, as he stood in the kitchen the following morning , combing down his damp hair with his fingers, but knowing very well that it would only stick up again in about ten minutes.

"For what?" Sirius wondered, furrowing his brow, "You didn't even finish the last one you picked up…"

"Well…I know...that one was rubbish," Harry explained, unrolling his balled-up socks and balancing on a foot as he tried to slide one on, "Me and Ron need a different one…"

"Why?"

Harry tried not to huff impatiently as he stood up. Sirius was on one of his inquisitive streaks again, and although he didn't sound angry, Harry knew very well that his godfather would keep prodding until he received some sort of finality. The man hated being left out in the cold when it came to Harry's schemes, even the ones that weren't mischievous.

"We're…er…trying to figure something out," Harry began, speaking carefully as not to lie to his godfather, "…about this…erm…plant we read about…"

Sirius leaned back in the kitchen chair he was slouching in and laced his fingers together, resting his hands on top of his head as he thought.

"Since when do thirteen year olds do so much summer research…" Sirius commented, raising an eyebrow in his own sly way.

Harry could hold back the disgruntled sigh no longer.

"Since we've been going to a wizarding school for three years that gives homework over the summer, Sirius…" the boy retorted. And truthfully, Harry felt slightly justified in his exasperation over the abundance of summer assignments at Hogwarts. Last year, Harry was forced to do his school work underneath the sheets with a flashlight so Uncle Vernon wouldn't barge into his bedroom threatening to flay him alive, which the lug never took the time to even seriously consider...

However, now that Harry had a large desk for completing his homework, not to mention a brilliant library only a floo away, Harry swore that he'd actually grab a book for Transfiguration today at Remus's. That way, he really wouldn't be lying. Not really.

"All right…" Sirius said in a half-consoling, half-admonishing tone, "No need to get so tetchy this early in the morning. I was only asking a question."

Harry stared at his toes, "Sorry…" he mumbled, suddenly realizing that his early-hour moodiness was threatening to overtake him.

"Where's Ron?" Sirius asked gently, purposefully passing over Harry's mild outburst.

"In the loo," Harry responded, "Can I have more pumpkin juice?"

"If you eat another piece of toast with it and finish your cereal," Sirius replied with a slight chuckle.

Harry plopped back down next to Sirius at the kitchen table. "I'm not really that hungry…"

"Eat it anyway," Sirius replied as he browsed the Friday morning headline of the Daily Prophet, "You're sure you don't want me to go with you to Remus's? I should at least give him a warning that you're coming…"

"No," Harry said quickly through mouthful of toast, "Ron wants to surprise—"

"Chew." Sirius commanded, interrupting his godson before he could say one more word around his bulging cheeks.

Hastily, Harry chewed, knocking his feet impatiently against the chair legs as he tried to down the enormous mouthful.

"Swallow."

"I did," Harry responded, reaching for his pumpkin juice to wash down the buttery taste.

"Thanks for nearly making me lose my appetite," Sirius joked in mock seriousness, making a face and turning a page of his newspaper, "You were saying…"

Harry rolled his eyes, but he could feel a smile beginning to form.

"Ron wants to surprise Professor Lupin. He hasn't seen him since school let out last month…"

Sirius took a long sip of coffee, "Ah…I see," he commented casually with a nod, "Well, all right. _But…_" Sirius continued quickly before Harry could say anything in response, "Keep in mind that not everyone is up for company at ten o'clock in the morning. Don't stay too long."

"We won't…"

"And be good," Sirius reminded his godson.

"We _will_, Sirius," Harry promised, tucking his hands under his thighs so he wouldn't do anything annoying in his state of eagerness.

"That goes for tomorrow, too…"

"I know," Harry said with a quick nod.

"You'd better know," Sirius advised as he took another dredge from the mug, "…or you two can spend the rest of Ron's stay up in your bedroom in separate corners, contemplating the meaning of life…"

"Er…okay…"

"I mean it, Bub," Sirius exclaimed, gazing pointedly at Harry.

"I know you do," Harry replied.

"All right, then, finish your juice," Sirius instructed, gesturing toward the half-empty glass.

Harry polished it off in four noisy gulps.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Ron and Harry stepped out of Remus's fireplace into an empty living room.

"You reckon he's still asleep?" Ron wondered aloud, taking a few steps around the room, "I mean, I suppose it's still pretty early—"

"Hey, shut up a second…" Harry interrupted, holding his hand up.

"Why are you always shushing me?" Ron whispered in aggravation.

"_Listen_," Harry demanded, pointing toward the corridor, "Do you hear voices?"

Ron tilted his head, listening.

"Yeah…" the boy breathed, looking animatedly at Harry.

Slowly, they moved closer, walking softly on the balls of their feet. Besides Remus's, there were two distinct, rumbling voices accompanying that of their former professor.

Ron snapped his head in Harry's direction.

"_Dumbledore_," the redhead mouthed, an utterly bewildered expression painted on his face.

Harry widened his eyes in acknowledgement of Ron's silent declaration. The third voice needed no identification.

Snape.

And slinking as close to the parlor as they dared, Ron and Harry crept along the wall, honing in on broken bits of the terse conversation. Holding out an arm to barricade his friend flat against the wall, Harry paused, pressing his face against the cold plaster as he listened.

"…just as stubborn and pigheaded as your little friends were, Lupin," Snape sneered from behind the thick wall-papered barrier, "Perhaps you enjoyed gallivanting around with Potter and the mutt once a month more than listening to reason…"

"Severus," Dumbledore's placid voice interrupted the bitter tirade.

"You know that's not true," Lupin asserted firmly.

Snape snorted bitterly.

"This has nothing to do with the past," Remus continued, "I made a choice when I stepped down as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. It was for everyone's good."

Harry pressed his ear so hard against the wall that it hurt. His sweaty palms stuck to the papered-surface.

"My boy, I am merely asking you to take it into consideration before I approach my other prospect," Dumbledore informed gently, "You have quite the knack for teaching…"

"Severus is capable of filling in until you find someone suitable, I imagine," Lupin muttered.

And Snape nearly exploded.

"It is _not_," the potions master seethed, "your place to state what I am capable of in any situation!"

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin at Snape's harsh—almost chilling tone.

After a tense moment of silence, Snape spoke up again, more quietly this time. However, the venom was still adamant.

"I don't give a damn what you do, Albus," Severus spat coldly, "Hire the demented clod. He cannot be any worse than a blasted werewolf who cares for nothing but his monthly moonlit prowls. I will be in my chambers."

And suddenly, Harry heard footsteps.

Panicking, he peeled himself away from the wall, and grabbing Ron's shoulder, he shoved his friend roughly around the corner and made to follow.

But he wasn't quick enough.

As Harry was halfway down the corridor, Snape grabbed him by the back of his shirt and wrenched him around.

"_So…_" Snape growled quietly, his glare more menacing than Harry had ever seen, "It's not enough that you wander the school grounds at night, is it Potter…even on holiday you continue to appear around every corner, eavesdropping like the unruly monster you are…"

Snape gave Harry a rough shake, and the boy looked desperately over the professor's shoulder for a sign of Dumbledore or Lupin. He would have shouted, but his tongue was so dry that it stuck to the roof of his mouth.

"I believe it is time you learn some respect, Potter," Snape said in a harsh whisper.

Harry's heart pounded. He was frozen to the spot until Snape, glancing over his shoulder once, shoved the boy roughly toward the living room.

TBC...

* * *

Okay, sorry about the cliffie. Seriously. But I promise there'll be a new chapter before Christmas. And in creating a cliff-hanger, I virtually force myself to write quickly. I become rather guilty when I take a week off. lol.

If you've been following my other story, I have to say that it was odd writing harsh!Snape again. I haven't done it since chapter one of Emerald Eyes...

Anyway, what did you think of this chapter?! A bit of action... Some sweet Sirius moments (that hopefully weren't too mushy)... Harry and Ron... Please let me know what you think about the direction of this story. As always, I more than appreciate your wonderful reviews. And everyone who is simply reading and enjoying, thank you very much.

Have a great week everyone! (Personally, I'm dangerously close to banging my head against a wall...lol)


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I hurried as fast as I could with this chapter. Blast those Christmas festivities. Just to warn you: if you've been following my other story, Emerald Eyes, Snape's character in this chapter (and entire story for that matter) is a bit harsher than I've been writing in my other story--for obvious reasons. So be warned. Shove heartwarming!Severus off to the side for a moment. lol. And your reviews for last chapter were spectacular and humbling. Thank you very much.**

Harry's stomach clenched suddenly in fear and the muscles in his legs turned to rubber. His steps were hasty and awkward as he was dragged into the sitting room painfully by his upper arm. Harry tried to swivel around to see where Ron had hidden, but Snape only dug his fingers solidly into the boy's arm as he silently pulled him along.

But as they approached the fireplace, Harry couldn't ignore the bruising, unbearable pain in his arm anymore. In desperation, the boy yanked back, but Snape was relentless, and the dark eyes were terrorizing as they bore into Harry's own.

"Ow…_ow_…" Harry whispered as he tried to twist and contort his arm to loosen Snape's hold. Finally, he let his arm hang slack, "Professor, please…that hurts." Harry clamped his lips shut, swallowing a moan of discomfort, horrified that tears were beginning to burn his eyes, and angry with himself for allowing his current lack of pain tolerance to get to him. He gazed at his professor pitifully.

And immediately, the strong fingertips relaxed, but the hand remained on Harry's arm. Snape dropped his eyes, and a peculiar look replaced the furious one that had so instantaneously engulfed the man's features. The sudden shift in Snape's demeanor caused Harry to feel oddly uncomfortable, and he glanced away, not wanting to analyze the strange gloom that seemed to cloud his professor's eyes.

But Harry didn't have to deal with his uneasiness for long, as Snape quickly regained his severe composure and firmly pushed Harry down into a nearby armchair. Rubbing his throbbing arm gently, the heat soaking through the cotton of his shirt, the boy was startled by his own sudden fear of the potions master. Usually, Harry retained an aura of defiance around the man, forcing himself to be apathetic about the frequent consequential detentions. It was the only way Harry could keep his pride from being deflated by Snape's taunting. However, Harry had never seen him quite this fierce before. It was bewildering.

Watching Snape intently, Harry tried hard to ignore the thick thumping of his heart and feverishly gripped the arms of the chair, refusing to cower under his professor's billowing stance.

Snape ran his fingers messily through his black, lank hair as he glowered down at the boy he loathed, "If you were my charge, Potter, I would blister your hide," the man callously informed.

Harry didn't respond. He figured it was only a threat, but his stomach turned icy at Snape's words. Harry's eyes immediately rested on Snape's middle, subconsciously searching for the gleaming metal of a belt buckle. Although Harry had never actually experienced the burn of leather against his skin, his uncle often loosened his belt menacingly when he felt Harry was being too cheeky or ungrateful, approaching the boy as if he were going to thrash him. But Vernon never followed through, and besides, Harry was too fast for his lug of an uncle.

However, Snape's words were cold and sickeningly familiar. And after the way Snape had grabbed Harry's arm, the boy felt nauseous and uncertain over such a threat.

The few times Harry had acted up this summer and Sirius had scolded him, threatening to take away his Firebolt…or put him in his room…or even spank him, it was nothing like this. Even when Sirius had to actually punish him, his godfather had a way of eventually making Harry feel disappointed in himself rather than sick with fear.

Sirius…

_Oh, god…_ Harry thought…_Please come and get me Sirius…please…_

But although Harry could smell the sootiness of his and Ron's recent trip through the fireplace, the opening remained dark and still. The only way to contact Sirius from Remus's house was through the floo-network. And Harry realized, his throat constricting tightly, that Sirius wasn't going to come. Shifting his head quickly to the right, Harry stared down the corridor, waiting for his professors or his best mate to come around the corner. However, Snape had made little noise dragging Harry into the other room, and the man was speaking in a gruff whisper that no one but Harry could hear. Dumbledore and Lupin thought that Snape had returned to Hogwarts, and Ron was most likely huddling in a hidden corner the way he had when the firework had whizzed past his head in Harry's bedroom. No one knew that Snape was about to destroy him.

The boy glanced back up at Snape, knowing very well that he looked pathetic and close to tears. But Harry wouldn't let them fall. He wouldn't give Snape the satisfaction of sensing his distress. Through the dark mist of his misery, however, Harry noticed Snape was studying him—the black eyes flickering quickly about Harry's face in a confused way that seemed to somehow mirror the gloom that had settled about the boy's own features. But it was different—the man's face was more solid…more mysterious…

Snape moved forward in Harry's direction. The boy flinched and pulled back his sore arm, and Snape, freezing suddenly, dropped his barely outstretched hand back to his side and spoke softly, yet harshly.

"I'll be damned if I am going to let you get away with eavesdropping and sneaking around, Potter. Not this time. _Get_ _up_," Snape spat, jerking his head once and turning away from Harry, briskly swirling his heavy robes.

Harry nearly choked on the dense air in his lungs, terrified that, perhaps, Snape really was planning on giving him a whipping…or maybe something worse.

_But he can't,_ Harry thought wildly, _He won't…not when Dumbledore and Lupin are here_. _Where in the bloody hell are they?! _It seemed impossible that Albus Dumbledore, the static, all-knowing presence in Harry's life was failing to come to his rescue. Harry was less than five rooms away.

However, to the boy's astonishment, Snape only grabbed an overflowing handful of floo power and tossed it roughly into the fireplace; the emerald flames that erupted were flamboyant and warm. Feeling stiff and shaky, Harry stood slowly, but kept his heels pressed against the armchair.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked weakly, but Snape didn't answer him. He simply reached out for the boy once more.

But this time when Snape grabbed for him, the man twisted the front of Harry's shirt in his fist, pulling the boy forward and pushing him, stumbling, into the fireplace. Harry held his hands out to steady himself against the stone, the toasty breeze from the flames rippling the hem of his shirt. For one wild, brief moment, Harry seriously pondered bolting as fast as he could out of the room for help, but before he could move one trainer out of the fireplace, Snape stepped in beside Harry, throwing an arm around the boy's waist and yanking him back firmly so that Harry's back rested snuggly against the man's torso.

"_Sirius Black's residence_," Snape exclaimed, articulating each word.

And as Harry's world began to swirl into blackness, a warm glimmer of hope melted his icy stomach. Never would Harry have thought he could feel such relief while being constrained in the cold, iron hold of Severus Snape.

* * *

Reaching their destination, Harry wasted no time in trying to wrench himself free of Snape's arm. Back in his own home with his godfather nearby, he felt considerably braver.

"Sirius!" Harry called out in a strangled voice, not caring that his flailing attempts to get away were only pressing Snape's forearm deeper into his ribs, "Get the hell _off_ of me!" the boy screamed, hoping that in all his writhing, Snape wouldn't be able to do anything to him.

"Shut up, Potter," Snape sneered beside Harry's ear, giving the boy a firm jostle in the crook of his arm.

Almost instantly, Sirius jogged into the living room, the lines around his soft brown eyes deep with concern at the unfamiliar tone in Harry's cry. However, the man stopped immediately, the color in his face draining when he caught sight of Snape encircling his struggling godson with his right arm and firmly clutching his wand in the hand of the other. Sirius noted with relief that Severus's wand was not aimed at Harry. It wasn't aimed at anyone, really. But still, Sirius moved carefully.

"Snape…" Sirius spoke calmly, but Harry could tell that inwardly, his godfather was straining not to leap out and attack the other man, "What are you playing at? Give me my godson." Sirius extended his left hand as if to reach for the boy.

Harry bit his lip, squirming a little and feeling childish. He wanted Sirius. And he wished more than anything that Snape would just let him go and leave them alone.

"Your _godson_," Snape spat, "is a conniving menace who I have just caught listening in on a private matter that is not his concern. The boy deserves a proper thrashing. And if you are to act as Potter's…_guardian_," Snape emphasized the last word with particular disdain, "then do the entire wizarding world a favor and deal with this child as you should."

And suddenly, miraculously, Harry felt Snape release him and shove him firmly over to where his godfather stood. Sirius caught him by the arm, and straightening the boy up, he immediately grasped Harry's shoulders and crouched down slightly. Harry jumped a bit as he felt his godfather's fingers unknowingly graze the bruise on his arm.

"Are you all right?" Sirius whispered hoarsely, forgetting about Snape for the moment and indifferent towards his own wandless state. He'd seen Harry wince and hunch his shoulder. Frowning worriedly, Sirius removed his hand and tugged down the collar of Harry's shirt, stretching it over his shoulder. Holding the boy securely around the waist with his other hand, he turned Harry to the side a bit to get a better look.

A portion of the pale skin of Harry's upper arm was splotchy red; four small oval-shaped bruises of slightly varying sizes were rapidly forming.

"Oh, Bub…" Sirius breathed in horror, gently dragging the pad of his thumb back and forth across the tender, motley skin.

Oddly embarrassed, Harry turned his head slightly and glanced back at Snape, who now had his wand poised as if expecting some sort of retaliation, but whose eyes had lost the frightening, almost inhuman gleam.

Suddenly, Harry felt strong hands on either side of his face, turning him back around. Something wasn't right about Sirius's breathing, Harry noticed. And the man appeared as if he were suppressing a tremor.

"Harry," he said gravely, "I want you to go upstairs to your room."

Harry sucked in his breath sharply. His godfather was going to kill Snape. "No, Sirius!" Harry said frantically, "No…I'm okay. I swear."

"Shhh," Sirius soothingly shushed him, brushing aside Harry's fringe with the tips of his fingers, "You need to obey me, please. Everything will be just fine."

"No…" Harry attempted pleadingly, "You'll get in trouble and have to go back to Azkaban." Feeling the tears well up, Harry shook his head in a sad, bleary manner, "Please don't leave me…"

"I'm not going _anywhere—_"

"It is just like you, Black," Snape interrupted with a frigid, hateful sneer, "… to protect the foolish child from discovering what kind of person you _truly_ are…"

Sirius straightened up, sliding his hand to the back of Harry's neck, pulling him in closer, but glaring venomously at the potions master, "And it's even _more_ like you to leave marks on a child who's done nothing more to you than resemble someone you once hated!" Sirius pushed Harry toward the kitchen, and the boy moved forward a few steps but hung back and continued to survey the scene.

Severus's knuckles were deathly white around the turgid wand, his face contorted behind clustered strings of black hair.

"You are a pathetic, bitter man," Sirius informed Snape calmly, almost sadly. He looked right into the detached, charcoal eyes, "And Harry is _not_ James."

Harry felt dizzy leaning against the table in the kitchen. But even from his post in the next room, Harry could see the potions master swallow thickly—his Adam's apple the only thing that wavered, briefly, on his frozen body.

Just as Snape parted his lips, the fireplace erupted in green flames behind the man, his infallible reflexes aiding him as he spun around and edged back a few steps. Crying out, Ron tumbled out of the fireplace and landed on his hands, sprawled on the ground.

Forgetting Sirius's instructions, Harry ran forward, past his godfather's attempt to grasp him by the back of the shirt, and knelt beside Ron, helping him up.

"You okay, mate?" Harry asked in an unnaturally high and cracked voice. His throat was as dry as the rest of his body was clammy and cold. But before Ron could answer, Sirius moved forward, and taking one of Harry's sweaty hands, and grasping Ron by his elbow, he pulled both boys back toward the kitchen.

"No need," Severus spat in disgust causing all three to stop and stare intently at the potions master, and sweeping forward briskly, the man grabbed a fistful of floo powder.

However, just as Snape was about to toss in the drab, gritty handful, the intense flames erupted once again, and expertly, Remus stepped away from the soft, eddied heat. Once he'd taken a second to settle into his new surroundings, Remus glanced fervently between Snape, Sirius, and the two boys.

"Sirius... "Remus began, and then tilting his head slightly, averted his focus, "Severus? What is this? What's going on?"

No one spoke. And in the tense silence, Snape took advantage of the moment, tossing in his floo powder and ducking into the fireplace in one stiff motion. Standing stiffly in the cage-like stone, he was whisked away to Hogwarts.

Again, the lack of noise permeated as all four stared at the barely visible wisps of greenish smoke that curled slowly into the air. Harry took several deep breaths through his nose as he shifted his eyes back and forth between Remus and Sirius. For some reason, the air felt thick and warm as it moved in and out of his lungs, seeming to coat and sting his throat simultaneously. Small bursts of color erupted every time Harry blinked. He was beginning to feel panicky and hot and sick, but he kept his features still. The tension in the room was heavy, and Harry's palms pricked with beads of sweat as he waited for someone to speak, gripping the edge of the table hard with the fingers of his left hand.

"What in the _hell_ was that all about?" Sirius demanded in a dangerously hushed voice that was unfamiliar to Harry. His godfather stared at Remus, with a mingled expression of confusion and anger, "My godson comes through the floo screaming while Snape's got him in a death hold—"

"I wasn't screaming…" Harry began weakly, shocked at how muffled his voice sounded in his own ears.

Sirius and Remus looked at Harry briefly but paid no mind. Ron, however, hadn't taken his eyes off of Harry since Sirius started speaking.

"—and the maniac bruised his arm," Sirius continued, his voice growing in volume, "I don't understand, Remus, what happened?"

Remus opened his mouth, appearing as if he were going to start explaining, but Sirius only weaved his fingers through his wavy hair, resting his hand on the top of his head and inhaled deeply, "I sent the boys over to visit," Sirius said, shaking his head, "I should have gone. I didn't know that Snape would be…" the man clenched a fistful of locks, "Well, he said he'd caught Harry listening in on something…"

Several feet away, Ron was staring at Harry with an odd expression on his face. The sporadic flashes of color and white light in Harry's vision were more pronounced than before, but he could clearly see that Ron was upset. The grimace on the redhead's face caused the freckles around his eyes to clump together, "Harry…" Ron whispered, shaking his head miserably, "Harry, I'm sorry…I panicked."

Harry blinked and opened his mouth to reply, to try and make sense of everything that had happened in the past fifteen minutes, but the words snagged in his throat. Meanwhile, the rumbling voices of Sirius and Remus were gradually growing louder—more anxious.

"…What do you mean, Dumbledore went along to Hogwarts?" Sirius exclaimed, his voice lofty, "How could you not see that bastard dragging my godson into the other room? How could you not hear them?"

"Harry didn't make a sound. And Severus could have cast a silencing charm…"

Ron grabbed Harry's arm, shaking his head more frantically this time as he attempted to explain himself, while the adults continued their own banter in the next room "I _tried_, mate! I waited around to make sure the git didn't do anything to you. I thought Lupin and Dumbledore would come." Ron's voice was growing thick with pent up tears and distress. "When he pushed you in the fireplace, I ran for help."

"It's all right…" Harry nearly whispered. He could no longer see Ron's face—only bright sparks of wavering light in the center of his vision. It was as if he'd rubbed his fists against his eyes for several minutes. What Harry could see, however, in his peripheral vision was swirling.

"Sirius, you can't go!" Remus's voice carried from the adjoining room, "Dumbledore will take care of it. Harry's fine."

"No…" Harry croaked hysterically, moving forward a step. His legs felt like they were weighted with lead, the sweat on his back icy. Harry swayed where he stood.

"Harry?" Ron said shakily in a small voice, "Harry!"

But Harry barely felt Ron grab him by the shirt as he fell forward, lost in a mist of nausea and panic. The hard kitchen floor felt strangely fuzzy and pillow-like underneath his trainers. Somewhere in the back of Harry's fog-soaked brain, he heard Sirius call his name, followed by the sound of heavy, approaching footsteps from the living room.

Then every ounce of Harry's consciousness was swallowed by the darkness.

TBC...

* * *

A bit shorter than usual, but I needed a good stopping point. I promise lots and lots of lovely Sirius/ Harry interaction in the next chapter, which by the way, will be up in the next couple of days. Christmas break no life. So yeah, Harry's not dead. Don't panic. lol.

Please, please give me some feedback on this chapter...especially on Snape...I was a bit nervous about posting harsh!Snape. I so love him when he's nurturing.

Thanks again for all of the wonderful reviews. Hopefully everyone had a lovely holiday and a relaxing break from work/school. I got Harry Potter Scene it! does a leap :)


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: First of all, before you read, I'd like you to know that this is a short chapter on purpose. I promised a new chapter out soon and was detained by an unexpected, unwanted houseguest over the hols. Blast it all. BUT! I will be finishing and posting Chapter 12 tomorrow, but I hit a decent stopping point and figured you may enjoy a little Harry/Sirius interaction to kick off the night...not to mention, you probably were wondering what the heck happened to Harry. So, here you go! Enjoy!**

Everything was hazy.

It only took Harry a minute or two to realize where he was; the feathery softness that cradled the back of his head and the clammy heat that rolled in waves up to his chest told the boy that he was tucked securely underneath the heavy quilt on his bed.

But Harry could hardly remember climbing under his covers.

Blinking heavily against the blurred white linen of his pillowcase, Harry lay very still as small bits of the morning's events floated around in his brain, slowly connecting like a puzzle—or the memory of a surreal dream.

He faintly remembered being carried up the staircase, and the warmth of Sirius's neck against his cheek. Harry knew he was in his godfather's arms by the few strands of dark, wavy hair that poked through the top of his glasses. The woodsy scent of aftershave was subtle and familiar in Harry's nose.

At the time, Harry could have cared less that at thirteen, he was being held like a toddler. The iron reassurance of Sirius's conjoined arms under his seat and the gentle pressure of his godfather's chin against his left shoulder blade gave Harry the strength to keep his eyes closed as they ascended the stairs. Harry had felt awful; he was shivery and his head felt detached. But he wasn't afraid anymore. Somehow, he knew everything was going to be all right.

Unable to stand the billowing heat beneath the quilt any longer, Harry slowly shifted onto his other hip, attempting to kick the covers toward the foot of the bed as he turned.

Without his glasses, the room was fuzzy. But Harry could make out the tall shape of his godfather moving quickly forward. Sirius grasped a corner of the crumpled quilt and drew it back up over his godson.

"No, I'm hot…" Harry complained, a bit surprised at the whine in his voice. Feeling as if he were going to smother, Harry squirmed underneath the hot blanket.

"Easy, Harry," Sirius murmured as he crouched down, placing one hand on the boy's forehead for a few seconds before smoothing back his damp hair. Harry's fringe stuck up at an odd angle. Sirius frowned with worry and folded down the quilt so that it covered Harry only up to his belly-button, "You were cold and shaking when I tucked you in. Now you're sweaty..." Sirius combed his fingers soothingly through the boy's hair until the uncomfortable grimace relaxed on his flushed face. Standing up, Sirius backed up a few steps to pull Harry's desk chair closer to the bed.

Exhausted even from the brief struggle among his twisted bedclothes, Harry breathed deeply through his nose. He tried to lie still as he watched Sirius, but after a brief pause, Harry lifted his torso off the bed to yank down his t-shirt. Finally, he flopped back down on his deeply indented pillow. He stared up at his godfather with droopy eyes.

"Better?" Sirius questioned, raising a slightly amused eyebrow and taking a seat very close to mattress.

"Sort of."

Sirius leaned his elbows on his knees while he rested his folded hands quietly on the sheet-covered bed. "Do you feel sick?" the man asked gently, hovering nearby but not coddling. He didn't want Harry to get hot and feverish again.

"No….well, not anymore," Harry replied. Blindly, he reached his hand over to feel along the smooth surface of the night table for his glasses.

Seeing that Harry's fingertips were still inches from his goal, Sirius plucked the boy's glasses off the table and placed them against Harry's palm.

"Thanks," Harry said, giving Sirius a weak smile. He opened them in one swift movement and pushed the glasses onto his nose. But as Harry relaxed again, the cloudy memory of falling forward onto the kitchen floor in front of everyone came back to him with a sickening rush. Instantly, his face went hot, and the back of Harry's neck felt sweaty against the pillow.

"I passed out, didn't I…" Harry mumbled, even though, really, the boy didn't need clarification. He'd blacked out several times last year and knew exactly what it felt like. Now that his vision was clear, he was too embarrassed to look at Sirius. His godfather would never do something as pathetic as passing out.

"Yes, you did," Sirius agreed, "It took us quite a while to get you to snap out of it. Poor Ron was white. I thought he'd be next." Harry could sense the smile in Sirius's voice over the last statement. His godfather was only trying to make him feel better. But it wasn't working. Harry felt like a coward. He stared at his stomach, absently rolling up the hem of his t-shirt into a tiny scroll.

Several long seconds of quiet passed.

"Everyone gets frightened, Harry," Sirius said softly, yet determinedly.

Harry stopped rolling his t-shirt. He pressed the side of his forehead into the cool, raised bulge of the pillow.

_No, they don't,_ Harry thought, _You don't._

"Hey," Sirius exclaimed lightly, pushing down the feathers, "Listen to me…" He crouched down closer to Harry's eye-level, even though his godson was purposely avoiding contact, "Are you listening?"

Harry nodded.

"Let me see those eyes, Bub."

Harry's eyes felt heavy and reluctant to comply. But he glanced up anyway.

"Ah, there's the godson I know," Sirius said, giving Harry a fond wink. He reached over and smoothed back the boy's fringe again, "…my godson who needs a haircut," he quipped in mock-seriousness as he pulled several strands of Harry's hair between his fingers as if to measure the length.

Harry brought his hand up swiftly to the top of his head to comb down the wayward pieces of hair, "It's not _that_ bad…" Harry argued, his expression frozen somewhere between laughter and annoyance.

Sirius chuckled under his breath as moved his arm back to rest on his knees. Although he could have thrown forth a witty retort to Harry's declaration, Sirius schooled his expression and waited for Harry to realize that a much-needed conversation was going to take place.

Taking the hint almost immediately, Harry pushed himself up on his elbow a bit, resting on his hip. He half-expected Sirius to push him back down against the pillow, but his godfather said nothing. He looked solemnly at Harry.

"You are very brave," Sirius informed his godson.

Harry nearly snorted.

"No," Sirius said firmly, holding up a hand to prevent Harry from speaking, "Hear me out."

Teeth tugging at his bottom lip, Harry lay still upon his elbow as he gazed up at Sirius.

"You saved my life, Harry…"

"I nearly mucked it up. And besides, I was scared then, too," Harry insisted, "Without Hermione—"

"You're thirteen years old," Sirius interrupted, shaking his head, "It's normal to get scared. _Adults _get scared."

"You don't…"

"I _do_, Harry," his godfather exclaimed, "I was bloody frightened out of my wits when I saw Snape dragging you through the fireplace…when I saw those bruises on your arm…"

Harry didn't say anything. His tongue suddenly felt thick. He knew Sirius was angry at Snape—maybe even angry enough to hurt him. But he never, ever suspected that his godfather was frightened.

Feeling stiff, Harry pushed himself up further, scooting backwards on his seat until he was leaning against the headboard. He looked soberly at Sirius.

"I thought you were going to kill him," Harry nearly whispered. His throat suddenly felt dry and scratchy.

His godfather sighed deeply, "Oh, Harry, I wasn't going to kill Snape." His voice was mild, but his knotted eyebrows were full of concern. And then it was clear that Sirius understood. "So that's what all the Azkaban business was about, was it?"

Slightly embarrassed, Harry nodded.

Twisting his mouth in thought, Sirius appeared as if he were trying to decide what to say next. However, the man simply reached over and tightened the blanket around Harry's legs before gaining his resolve. Inclining his head, he locked eyes with his godson.

"I'm sorry I frightened you," Sirius said genuinely, "The way he handled you just really bothered me."

"What are you gonna do about it?" Harry wondered.

Sirius paused, gazing at Harry and tapping his fingers together the way he did when he was trying to decide how to best explain a difficult situation to his adolescent godson.

"Nothing, right now," Sirius answered glumly, "Dumbledore will take care of it."

Another pause.

"He said if I were his kid he'd blister me."

Sirius snorted in contempt. "That was decent of him," he replied sarcastically. "He's got issues…that's for certain." Harry pulled a knowing face and nodded in agreement. "Although…" Sirius continued, raising an eyebrow, "I wouldn't advise listening in on anymore conversations—and not _just _onesinvolving Snape. Got it?"

Harry cringed. He should have known Sirius wouldn't forget about that.

"All right, I won't."

Nodding, he placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and applied pressure, "Lie back down now."

Harry ignored the order for a moment. "But why is Snape like that, Sirius? Why is he so nasty? I mean, even if he hated my dad, he doesn't have to act like a git to me…"

With a brief roll of his eyes, Sirius grasped Harry around the legs with both hands and pulled him forward until his head slid down into the pillow. "I don't know, Bub," the man finalized as he shook out the covers at the end of the bed and tucked them around Harry's bare feet. There was no need to delve into the past. Not now.

"I'm not tired anymore…" Harry exclaimed, beginning to elevate himself on his elbows.

"Down." Sirius emphasized his command by pointing a finger towards his godson.

Harry's dark head immediately hit the pillow.

"You just passed out, you nutter," Sirius cried, shaking his head as he finished tucking the blankets around Harry.

Harry smiled. Leave it to his godfather to follow up a stern order with his usual air of humor.

"But what about Ron? He'll be bored. Where is he anyway?"

"It's barely noon," Sirius assured him, "You haven't been out that long. You can rest until two, and then we'll have some lunch. Ron's with Remus."

"He is?" Harry asked, pulling off his glasses and handing them to Sirius.

"Mmmhmm. Remus went ahead and showed him the library."

_Bloody hell_, Harry thought, eyes expanding. He'd nearly forgotten why he and Ron had made the visit over to Remus's in the first place. _Way to go, Ron! I don't give him enough credit. Investigating on his own…_

"I'm really not tired, Sirius…._really_…" Harry pleaded.

"Really?"

"Er…" Harry stammered, almost certain Sirius was poking fun at him. The boy grinned. "Yeah…really."

"Then just relax on your bed. Here, turn over," Sirius said, nudging Harry on the shoulder, "I'll do your neck."

Harry shrugged. He vaguely remembered Sirius rubbing his neck and shoulders several weeks ago when he'd woken up from a nightmare. Harry couldn't recall what the dream was about, but he figured he must have cried out during it. He'd heard the door open only seconds after he opened his eyes, and Sirius was beside him. To think about it now was a bit embarrassing. But at least Harry hadn't had a nightmare for a while. He didn't think he had, anyway…

Harry flipped over on his stomach and settled into his pillow.

Leaning over, Sirius tugged down Harry's t-shirt a bit where it had bunched up at his shoulder blades, and very lightly, he began massaging Harry's neck with just the tips of his fingers. Almost immediately, Harry sagged against the mattress.

"Your mum used to do this when you were a baby," Sirius informed Harry, "It conked you right out."

Harry didn't respond.

"Still does, I see…"

Several minutes later, Harry was breathing deeply and evenly. Sirius had known he would be. Pulling the blankets up around the boy's middle, Sirius pulled back his chair gently, moving quietly, and closed the bedroom door with a soft _click_.

Ron would be back soon. Sirius just hoped that this time no other snarky bastards would be coming along with him.

TBC... (Tomorrow)

* * *

So whadja think? By the way, your reviews were so encouraging from the last chapter! I think I replied to all of them. I tried. If not, I'm sorry! If you would, could you take a minute to review and give me some feedback on this chapter? I appreciate it all!

I hereby swear on my laptop and morning Starbucks that I will have the next chapter out by tomorrow. Swear it.


	12. Chapter 12

Harry slowly opened his eyes that were still tight and gritty with sleep

Harry slowly opened his eyes that were still tight and gritty with sleep. Blurred, pale skin and a smattering of freckles encompassed his vision.

Startled, Harry cried out groggily and threw himself back away from the face. Almost simultaneously, Ron yelped and scooted back, the legs of the chair scraping squeakily against the wood floor.

Harry groaned and clapped his hands over his face, dragging the palms down his cheeks and distorting his face.

"Ron…" Harry exclaimed in a weak and muffled voice, "What are you _doing_?" Still emerging from sleep, Harry turned and pressed his face into the pillow, exhaling a great breath of warm air into the feathers.

"Sorry, Harry…" Ron said carefully, relaxing slightly and lifting himself up to scoot the chair closer, "Sirius said it was okay if I came and woke you up, but you were pretty much knocked out, mate. I was gonna—"

"…No, it's okay," Harry interrupted. He pushed himself up, balancing on one elbow as he reached for his glasses a second time that day, "Is it two?"

"No. Almost three."

"Damn..." Harry whispered angrily, throwing the covers back. He was suddenly wide awake.

"What?" Ron asked, clearly confused.

Harry sighed as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "Nothing."

_Nothing except I've been up here taking a nap for almost three hours like some sodding little kid…_

"What've you guys been doing?" Harry asked, trying hard not to appear as unpleasant as he felt. His flushed cheeks felt like they had weights in them, deliberately pulling his face into a frown. Harry walked over to retrieve the pair of jeans that were folded on top of his desk as he listened to Ron.

"Nothing much," Ron shrugged, "We played cards… But hey, Harry, you're not gonna believe what happened." The redhead suddenly stood up and switched locations, plopping down excitedly among the unmade bed.

"What…" Harry replied, attempting to balance as he stepped into and pulled up his jeans.

"Well," Ron prompted, "You know how Dumbledore and Snape were talking about Professor Lupin coming back to teach Defense next year?"

"Er…not really," Harry admitted as he changed into a clean t-shirt. At the mention of Snape, Harry's stomach clenched as if he'd recently drunk sour milk. Thinking about the whole situation made his skin prickly.

Harry moved back over to his bed and sat across from Ron who instantly swiveled around to face Harry. The gangly teen looked as if he were going to burst. Harry gave him an odd look.

"Merlin's pants, mate, didn't you catch on to _that_ much, at least?" Ron asked incredulously. "I've listened in on enough conversations with Fred and George to know what to listen for…"

"What? Your mum barging through the door chasing you with her broomstick?…"

"Yeah, no kidding…" Ron absently agreed, "But no, mate, _listen_, this is serious."

"I am…"

Ron glanced toward the slightly ajar door as if he were making sure no one was perched outside. "…I think I know what that plant does…" he nearly whispered, leaning forward.

"Wait," Harry frowned, "How do you—"

"_Because_, Harry," Ron pressed on. The mattress was squeaking with the boy's restless bouncing. "It all makes sense if you piece it together! I didn't even need the bloody library…"

Harry didn't respond. His brain was desperately trying to make sense of the situation.

"Snape and Lupin were obviously friends once," Ron continued, speaking in a hushed, important voice, "And Lupin's been a werewolf ever since he was little. Snape knew that, remember?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, maybe Snape knows how to brew a potion with a plant that will turn Lupin back into a regular person. Maybe they tried to find it when they were little and got caught or something."

The speed with which Ron was spitting out possibilities was uncharacteristic of the boy. Harry felt as if he were sitting across from a certain bushy-haired know-it-all.

"It's probably a load of rubbish," Harry said after a minute of basking in the 'what-ifs', "Snape makes him the Wolfsbane potion to keep it under control. If there was a plant that kept Remus from turning into a werewolf at all, don't you think they'd have made it by now?"

"But maybe…" Ron cried, "_Maybe_ the Forbidden Forest is the only place it grows! Remember what the note said?"

"It didn't say it's the _only_ place it grows…" Harry retorted, still rather skeptical of the whole ordeal.

"Yeah, it did…"

"No, Ron," Harry insisted, sliding off of the bed and crouching down, "The note says that it _grows_ in the Forbidden forest." Harry stretched his arm far underneath the bed until he felt the rough, cloth cover of the stashed book. The course material scratched against the floor as Harry dragged it out, "But it _only_ grows every few decades…" Harry continued as he stood up and handed Ron the book, "You got them mixed up—"

"Harry, look!" Ron exclaimed, cutting Harry off. Ron was pointing fervently to the binding of the book. Funny, Harry'd never even chanced a look at the actual volume. He'd been too interested in the letters… Harry leaned over and glanced over the dull, tiny gold lettering:

_**Rare Plants and Life-Altering Herbs: Dispelling the Myth**_

_**By Adinah Clepphorth**_

Grabbing the book, Harry squinted. "Who the hell is _that_?" he said quietly, as if speaking only to himself.

"Who _cares_, Harry?" Ron cried, snatching the book away from Harry's hands, "Don't you get it?! Why would Lupin have a book about life-altering herbs if he didn't believe they existed?"

"You seriously sound like Hermione…"

"Come _on_, mate," Ron pleaded, "Lupin could be our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher again! You said he was your favorite teacher last year…"

"He was," Harry agreed, tucking his thumbs into his back pockets and chewing on his bottom lip the way he did when he was thinking about something. And to be honest, Harry thought the whole idea was rather ridiculous. However, some portion deep inside of his stomach tingled with excitement. It did kind of make sense. And what if it _had_ been a few decades since it last grew? That is…if there was such a thing…

Harry watched as Ron sat heavily on the mattress, staring down at his hands that lay splayed upon his knees. "We can at least find out if it really exists. Ask someone or something…" the redhead mumbled. "We can at least _try_ to help him. It doesn't seem like anyone ever does…"

Gingerly, Harry sat down next to his friend. He felt awkward…and a bit ashamed. After all, it had been Harry's idea to try and decode the messages. And now he was allowing his foul mood to overtake him. He hadn't realized that Ron felt like that about Professor Lupin.

"I know," Harry replied softly, "I mean, he gets a bit of help…Snape _does_ make him that potion every month, but—"

"Snape's an arse."

Harry glanced at his distraught mate and let out a snort of laughter. "Yeah…he is..."

Looking back at his best mate, Ron smiled sheepishly. Harry returned the mild grin.

"All right," Harry finally said.

"All right, what?" Ron asked, trailing a finger across the cover of the book that now lay quietly on the bed.

Harry bit his lip for a few seconds before nodding once in Ron's direction. "We'll help him."

* * *

"Harry you need to eat something for lunch other than just ice cream," Remus informed the messy-haired boy as they stood between Florean Flortescue's Ice Cream Parlour and the new sandwich shop that had just opened across the street.

Remus had already purchased Ron a ham and cheese sandwich, and the boy was eating ravenously. In fact, he was halfway through it. However, cheeks bulging, Ron looked up from the small table outside of the ice cream parlor to listen to the exchange between the two.

"I'm not really that hungry," Harry said, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shrugging as if that revealed his honesty, "Sometime Sirius just lets me have bread and butter if I eat a big breakfast."

"He also makes you drink a glass of milk with it," Remus said, giving Harry a _look_ that clearly employed that the man knew just as much, if not more, about what Sirius allowed Harry to do. "Ice cream does not count as milk."

With that, Remus marched over to the sandwich shop window, reaching for his wallet as he gestured with a jerk of his head for Harry to follow.

Harry sighed as he slowly followed. Last summer when he'd stayed in Diagon Alley for three weeks, he'd been able to eat whatever he wanted.

_So much for that…_

Five minutes later, Harry sat at the round parlor table sipping a bowl of onion soup and gulping his milk after every few mouthfuls. Ron, who had finished his sandwich before Harry had even sat down, was now eating a small dish of butterscotch ice cream. Remus nursed a cup of coffee as he waited for the boys to finish.

"I'd like to go down to Flourish and Blotts to look for a few books when we you two get through eating," Remus exclaimed as he set his mug down on top of the saucer.

Harry put his spoon down and drained his glass of milk before speaking. "Can me and Ron go to the Quidditch shop while you look for some books?" the boy asked, "It's only like two shops down from there…"

Remus considered this for a moment.

"We'll stay together," Ron promised, speaking through a mouthful of melted ice cream.

"Yeah…" Harry agreed, scraping his spoon lightly along the bottom of his bowl.

"And you'll meet me outside the bookstore in thirty minutes?" Remus said, eyeing the two boys with a serious, yet pleasant look.

"Yeah."

"Yes, sir," Harry added, earning a heightened eyebrow from Remus at the formal address.

Harry was pretty sure that Remus would let them go, but he wanted to be extra polite, just in case.

Chuckling lightly, Remus nodded, "All right. You've got half an hour."

The boys scraped their chairs back simultaneously. However, Ron stopped to lick his spoon clean before dropping it back in the dish with a clatter.

* * *

Harry and Ron stood outside of Quality Quidditch Supplies peering once more at the gleaming wood of the new Firebolt case that had been created specifically for the broomstick. They'd been in the shop for twenty minutes and decided to spend the last ten staring at this summer's newest feature of the Firebolt.

The case was protected with magic, and the velvet lining was laced with a spell that automatically trimmed the tail-twigs and shined the handle every time the broom was placed within.

It was almost as expensive as the Firebolt itself. In his peripheral vision, Harry caught the sight of his best friend pressing his face up against the glass in longing. It made his stomach hurt to see that resigned look of hopelessness in Ron's eyes.

"Come on," Harry said, unable to bear a second more of Ron's cloudy, wishful expression, "Let's go find Remus at Flourish and Blotts." He tugged on Ron's shirt to get him moving.

"Hhmmnn…" Ron grunted, waving Harry's hand away, nose firmly stuck to the window.

Harry turned around and leaned up against the window, giving Ron another minute. He watched as witches and wizards of all ages and shapes strolled down the cobble-stone. In the distance to his left, Harry heard a faint rattling, followed by a hollow sing-song voice. As the rattling became louder, Harry made out a battered, wooden cart loaded with jars and wooden containers of all sizes that trembled as the vendor pushed them down the uneven street. His robes were too small and tattered. His enormous belly protruded far enough reveal a scuffed pair of purple, pointy shoes beneath. He called out in a dense, cockney accent.

"_An herb for every ailment! I can cure anything you' got—from the common bloke to the barmy wizard! Right this way!"_

But the man didn't stop. No one seemed to pay any mind to him or his creaking, rattling cart.

"Ron…" Harry said, nudging his friend repeatedly, "_Ron!_"

"Huh? What?" Spinning around quickly, Ron stared at Harry with round eyes.

"Listen…" Harry commanded, pointing to the odd man and his clinking bottles. The two boys listened intently as the man beckoned another group of shoppers with a similar call as he continued pushing cart down the street.

"Go stop him!" Ron cried, elbowing Harry in the ribs.

"_You_ stop him!"

"No way! Look how dodgy he is… His shoes are purple!" Ron notified, as if that fact were the epitome of all things barking mad.

However, Ron and Harry were both moving forward in tiny steps, slowly following the vendor. Eventually, they passed Flourish and Blotts. Harry glanced inside for a trace of Remus and then down at his watch. It had been twenty-three minutes.

"Let's do it together," Harry said finally, "We don't have much time left."

"Do you have your wand?" Ron wondered, stepping out of the way to let an elderly witch pass with a handful of wax-sealed letters.

"We can't do magic, Ron," Harry reminded his friend, standing on his toes to keep sight of the man with the cart.

"Well, I know _that_, you tosser, but we could always poke his eye out if he gets too close!"

"Oh no…" Harry groaned.

"What?" Ron asked, swiveling his head to where Harry was staring with a dejected look on his face.

"He's going toward Knockturn Alley…"

"Well let's follow him!" Ron insisted. "Where's your cloak?"

"It's at home," Harry muttered, feeling his cheeks heat up, "I'm not allowed to take it with me when I go places…"

Ron tugged on Harry's sleeve this time, seeming to ignore Harry's embarrassed expression. "If we hurry, though, we'll catch him before he goes in too far. The first few shops aren't too bad—"

"I can't, Ron."

The redhead froze, staring at his friend incredulously. "We won't be gone long…Remus won't know. And that book helped but it didn't say much about curing werewolves." They were beginning to lose sight of the vendor.

Harry was torn. Last year, he would have darted forward without a second thought, but things were different now…"

"No, Ron," Harry said quietly, shaking his head, "You don't understand. If Sirius finds out I'll be in so much trouble. I've gotten away with too much since you've been here. He'll punish me if he knows we gave Remus any trouble."

"No, he won't—"

"Yeah, he will, Ron!" Harry retorted in anger, "He's _my _godfather…I should know."

Ron didn't say anything. He looked slightly hurt, but Harry wasn't sure if it was from the way he nearly shouted at his friend or because of his emphatic insistence that Sirius was _his_ godfather.

"Listen, Ron…" Harry said, almost apologetically, "I want to help Remus too….I really do." And then Harry felt his face turn hotter than ever, but if anyone would understand, it would have to be Ron. "But if Sirius finds out I was that close to Knockturn Alley, I'll get my arse walloped."

There were several long seconds of stunned silence before Ron found his words.

"Er…Well, yeah, I mean…my mum'll kill me too, Harry, but we're so close." Ron stared longingly at the gloomy, notorious alley.

Had Ron really blown Harry's announcement off so easily? He obviously knew what Harry meant about getting into trouble.

Ron turned back to Harry. "If only we had your cloak…" the boy trailed off.

Harry sighed, throwing back his head a bit in frustration. He didn't care that much about getting a spanking…not that he wanted one. But Harry knew that Sirius would be so disappointed in him. He knew it. And Ron didn't.

However, in a way, Ron was right. This may be their only chance, and they still had a couple of minutes. If they hurried, the fat bloke would still be close enough to Diagon Alley that they'd most likely be all right. Just a quick question. Then they'd run like their trousers had caught fire. Sirius wouldn't know. Harry would, but he supposed he'd have to deal with that…

"Fine," Harry exclaimed, grabbing a handful of Ron's shirt and yanking him forward, "But you'd better run as fast as you bloody can if some crazy old sod gets too close to us down there."

They jogged forward.

"Wicked, mate! We're gonna find out….I know it!" Ron said, his voice shaky from apprehension and excitement.

"Shut up, Ron," Harry huffed as they moved quickly down the street.

A pause.

"Right."

And ducking their heads, the two boys crossed the street and slinked into the darkness of Knockturn alley.

TBC...

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

Knockturn Alley was dark—more gloomy and decrepit than Harry remembered. Only a handful of witches and wizards roamed the wet, mossy cobblestone. But unlike Diagon Alley where everyone minded his own business, those among the poisonous candle shops and shrunken heads gazed forebodingly and deliberately at Harry and Ron.

Feeling stiff, Harry could only stare back at the thick, black robes and lanky hair of the passersby.

The boys walked briskly, keeping their heads down but allowing their eyes to wander among the windows, thickly coated with dust. Shivering, Harry tore his eyes away from the clouded display of a knotted hand.

Suddenly, Harry felt Ron clutch at his sleeve.

"I don't like this," Ron whispered hoarsely. Usually Harry would have shrugged him off, but today, he allowed his friend to stay close.

"Neither do I," Harry answered softly, never taking his eyes off of the dark, eerie surroundings, "I _told_ you we're not supposed to be down here. Hagrid told me—"

"Well no joke, mate," Ron interrupted in a huff, "I've been coming to Diagon Alley with mum since I was a baby. Don't you think I know it?"

Harry stemmed the urge to role his eyes. When Ron was with Harry, the redhead was braver than usual. However, without the protection of the invisibility cloak, the boy was jittery and rigid.

But Harry didn't blame him. Walking down Knockturn Alley among the leering eyes of potentially evil witches and wizards made Harry feel frightened and vulnerable—as if he were naked in the middle of London.

"We're too far in," Harry said, suddenly jolting and sidestepping a large, brown spider as it scuttled down the street.

An odd, quiet whimper escaped Ron's lips at the sight of the furry creature, and Harry felt the hand on his shirt tighten considerably. "I don't know where he went, Ron," the boy exclaimed, shaking his head, "This isn't right….not without the cloak. We need to go back—"

"_Harry_," Ron breathed, pointing a trembling finger towards a rotted piece of wood that hung awkwardly on a rusted iron bar. Harry snapped his head up, squinting at the dark, splintered sign:

_**The Outlandish Greenhouse of **_

_**Professor Octavious**_

_**Est. 1356**_

Harry's stomach prickled, "That's got to be it," he said, using his other hand to detach Ron from his sleeve, "If we're going to do this, let's go. And I mean _fast_." Standing a few feet from the entrance of the dismal shop, Harry glanced wildly around his shoulder. Only a black-clad, wrinkled wizard was eyeing them out of his peripheral vision.

Ron nodded shakily as Harry stepped forward and pushed open the heavy, wooden door.

It creaked noisily.

Immediately a rush of cool air ran over Harry's cheeks and forehead, thick with the mingled scent of musty parchment and dried pine needles. Reaching back to make sure Ron was still behind him, Harry pinched a fold of his friend's shirt and pulled him to his side.

Harry glanced around. The shop was silent and nearly empty, except for a few dead plants that sat encased in cobwebs on the shelves behind the counter. Everything was coated with a dense layer of filth.

As they inched forward a few steps, the dusty wooden floor groaned beneath their weight.

"Maybe this isn't his shop," Ron whispered, his eyes hastily scanning every corner of the room, "It looks abandoned."

Suddenly, a man cleared his throat gruffly. Harry jumped, breathing in sharply and briskly through his nose as his hand scrambled to the waistband of his jeans. Ron grabbed the edge of Harry's shirt again and began to back up toward the open door.

Elbowing Ron off of him, Harry swallowed dryly and took a few steps toward the counter. He kept his hand poised against the thin ridge of the wood underneath his t-shirt.

"Hello?" Harry called out weakly, his voice cracking. And sensing that Ron wasn't following, Harry reached back blindly and pulled Ron forward again.

_Leave it to my best mate to lose his nerve at the last minute_…Harry thought, giving Ron an annoyed look when he stumbled over next to Harry

"Give me a mo'" a high, rasping voice echoed from around the corner of the dimly lit, narrow corridor at the back of the shop.

Harry's heart pounded heavily in his chest at the sound of the familiar accent. They'd definitely chosen the right store. Glancing over, Harry saw that Ron was shaking his head frantically. The boy was panicking.

"It's _all right_," Harry whispered emphatically. His own nerves were buzzing, but _someone_ had to keep it together during a time like this.

The slow, hollow sound of footsteps thudded and scraped against the floor. And several seconds later, the heavy-set man with the purple shoes appeared beside the counter. The shopkeeper's cheeks were rosy and his forehead glistened with perspiration.

Harry opened his mouth, feeling his tongue peel away from the roof of his mouth as he did so. "I…we…I mean, my friend and I—"

"What do you want?" the man inquired roughly, inspecting the pale faces of the two young boys standing awkwardly in his shop.

"Erm…" Harry stammered, his face burning as he struggled to find words, "We wanted to ask you a question...I mean, we need some information—"

"Harry, let's _go_…" Ron whispered hoarsely, tugging on the hem of the boy's shirt that was now clenched in his fist.

"Oi!" the shopkeeper nearly shouted. Ron and Harry jumped at the sharp echo. "I ain't about to give any snot-nosed kids a scrap o' information about anythin', I won't—"

"It's for Professor Snape…" Harry cut in, the air in his lungs freezing in shock at his impulsive outburst, "We…er…work for him in the summer."

_Shit_.

Harry could hear Ron breathing at a feverishly fast pace; he didn't dare make eye contact with him.

The man's dark eyes narrowed. "Severus Snape, you say?"

"I…"

"_Harry_…" Ron whispered desperately, pulling firmly on his shirt.

"Yes, sir," Harry said quietly, ignoring Ron's plea. The blood that had rushed to his cheeks was undoubtedly boiling, but they'd come too far to turn back now.

The man's eyes flickered back and forth continuously. And the more Harry gazed into the rapidly shifting orbs, the more uneasy he felt. Something was _off_ with this man.

"And what is it that 'e needs?" the portly man asked as he took a step forward, a hint of skepticism coloring his tone.

Harry resisted the urge to shrink back at the approach. "He's working on improving the Wolfsbane potion," Harry lied. His legs were trembling. "He…erm…read somewhere that there might be a plant that keeps werewolves from transforming…or something." The words formed stupidly on Harry's lips. He wanted to look away from the penetrating gaze of the man, but he couldn't.

The man remained silent for a long moment. However, Harry could tell by the expression on his face that the wheels in his head were turning—if not grinding together.

"Come along then," the man said slowly, "I've may have a bit o' useful information in the cellar."

Harry's head began to spin. Every ounce of reason told him that he shouldn't follow this man. If the shopkeeper couldn't tell them anything right away, then he didn't know anything about the plant. Harry was sure of it. And besides, he was getting the same sort of icy sensation in his stomach that he got the last time he'd accidentally stumbled into Knockturn Alley and was offered help by a dark and chilling witch carrying a tray of fingernails. Next to him, Ron emitted a soft and strange sort of whimper. Obviously, he was having second-thoughts as well.

"Er…no thanks…nevermind," Harry replied quickly, "We've got to be going…"

"Come on, then," the man beckoned, his eyes dancing back and forth wildly.

Simultaneously, Ron and Harry took a step backwards. Gripping his t-shirt covered wand, Harry shook his head feebly. Slowly, the boys moved toward the door. But the man followed.

"For werewolves, you say?" the shopkeeper drawled, beads of sweat glimmering on his forehead.

Frantically, Harry glanced behind his shoulder. All of the sudden, his stomach dropped sickeningly.

To Harry's morbid astonishment, across the cobblestone road stood Professor Snape, less than twenty feet away from Octavious's Greenhouse.

_Oh, god_, Harry thought, _we're trapped_.

However, their professor was seemingly engaged in a conversation with Mr. Borgin—the notorious shopkeeper of Borgin and Burkes. He hadn't seen them. But as the large man sauntered forward menacingly, Harry was almost certain that he was more of a threat than Snape.

Taking a chance, Harry stepped backwards over the threshold, a panting Ron close beside him.

"Professor!" Harry called out, twisting over his shoulder as he continued to back up.

Immediately, both Snape and Borgin snapped their heads in Harry's direction. After a fleeting second of frozen shock, Snape strolled briskly forward.

Ron groaned. However, Harry wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or horrified. He was only aware that in his desperate state of panic, he'd chosen what he had believed to be the safer option.

Snape's features were grave and solid as he surveyed the scene. But his eyes, Harry noticed, were alert and intense.

"Sev'rus," the shopkeeper exclaimed, stepping out of his store but away from the trembling boys, "Your…apprentices was just speakin' of you." The sweat dripped profusely from the man's head, but he didn't bother to soak it up with the sleeves of his robes.

"My apprentices…" Snape repeated coldly, glaring at Harry and Ron.

_Dammit, why did I do this…_Harry thought miserably.

And just as Harry had expected, Snape grabbed each of them by the collar, twisting the fabric tightly in his fists. Stumbling backward by the force, Harry cringed, feeling the hem constrict against his throat.

"We were just—" Harry began.

"Silence," Snape hissed, tightening his hold on the boy's shirt.

The shopkeeper's eyes continued to flicker nervously. "Said they was lookin' for information, they was."

Harry felt the bile rise in his throat. He gazed apologetically at Ron who had gone very pale and was glancing desolately between Harry, Snape, and the dodgy shopkeeper.

"Information, indeed," Snape scoffed, "They will be coming with me." And yanking both boys around, the professor steered them forward roughly.

Not daring to turn around, Harry could feel the impending stare of the shopkeeper as he stumbled along in Snape's grasp. It wasn't until several shops later that Harry could hear the deafening creak of the heavy door of Octavious's Greenhouse swing shut.

Snape said nothing as he dragged the boys swiftly out of the frightening gloom into the mild sunshine of Diagon Alley. Harry supposed he should feel relieved to be out of the mysterious store and away from the perspiring man, but with each step, Harry felt worse. Amid the silence, Harry's stomach had twisted into thick, painful knots.

They shouldn't have gone. And Harry had known it all along.

Suddenly halting, Snape stopped and wrenched the two boys around, pressing their backs up against the stone front of a nearby building as he glowered down at them. But after several long seconds, Snape's eyes rested only on Harry, boring into him with fierce intensity.

"You foolish, _ungrateful_ child," Snape seethed in a whisper. His black, drab hair dangled close to Harry's nose. "Of everything you have ever done, Potter, _this_ is by far the stupidest." Only when the words were spoken did Snape shift his glare to Ron.

Harry didn't respond. As much as he loathed to admit it, Snape was right. Harry's heart constricted painfully at the thought of Remus waiting alone—alone and worried—in front of Flourish and Blotts. Panic subsided, Harry's stomach simply ached hollowly.

Directing his tirade towards Harry once more, Snape shook his head in disgust. "You have no idea, do you Potter?"

Harry clenched his clammy hands to keep them from trembling.

Snape stared at Harry strangely for a bit longer. "Who brought you here?" the man inquired coldly. "Both of you."

"Professor Lupin," Ron croaked, his chin nearly touching his chest.

"And where, may I ask, was the Wolf while you imprudent imbeciles gallivanted off to Knockturn Alley?" Snape demanded scornfully.

At the mention of the word _wolf_, Harry felt a lump rise in his throat.

"He's at Flourish and Blotts," Harry whispered dejectedly, the guilt overpowering any ounce of customary defiance he may have directed towards the potions master.

Pointing to his left, Snape grabbed Harry's arm and pushed him toward the street. He did the same with Ron.

"Go," he commanded.

* * *

Harry couldn't look at Remus. He was so ashamed and felt unbelievably small standing in front of Lupin with Snape looming behind him. Surprisingly, they'd only been about seven minutes late. From a distance, Remus had looked slightly anxious, but not yet unnerved—at least not until he had spotted two thoroughly downcast boys with the stern professor in tow. Dimly, Harry realized that if he hadn't called out to Snape for help, they probably would have been able to easily smooth things over with Lupin. Then again, they might have been stuck down in a cellar with a beady-eyed maniac.

"Your shrugging isn't going to cut it, young man, so I suggest you start explaining," Remus admonished, yet his voice remained as placid as always.

Harry glanced up hesitantly, twisting the hem of his shirt the way he did when he didn't know what to say, "I can't," he muttered, "Not here."

After a long moment, Remus sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "I trusted you, Harry. Both of you," the man added, pointing a finger at Ron. "And apparently, I shouldn't have."

The lump that had been lodged in Harry's throat for the past five minutes expanded considerably. He swallowed, forcing himself to keep his emotions under control. Even if the crazy, purple-shoed nutter _did_ know anything about an exotic herb that would cure werewolves, Harry knew that he and Ron wouldn't be the ones to find it. In fact, he wasn't sure what possessed him to go along with the plan in the first place. The more he thought about it, the more idiotic it seemed. Such a stupid idea. A stupid, childish idea.

As Snape cleared his throat, Harry was suddenly jolted out of his despairing thoughts.

"Seeing as Potter and Weasley clearly understand the severity of their actions," the potions master sneered sarcastically, his tone dry and unforgiving, "I shall return to the castle to spare myself another second of this farce," he continued, regarding the entire situation with disdain. He turned away from all three of them.

"Thank you for the boys, Severus," Remus attempted quietly. But Snape didn't acknowledge the gratitude. He simply swept his robes behind him and continued briskly down the cobblestone.

Biting his lip, Harry stared at Lupin. He was gazing forlornly at Snape's back, watching as he disappeared around the corner.

"I'm sorry, Remus," Harry mumbled, studying the faraway look in the man's eyes.

Lupin finally glanced down, but he didn't soften his resolve. "We're going," he said resolutely.

"Where?" Harry asked meekly.

"Home," Remus replied, "To wait for your godfather."

Harry's stomach turned over. Of course Lupin would tell Sirius. For a moment, Harry felt like pleading with him, but deep down, the boy knew that wouldn't do any good. Harry knew that he deserved whatever was coming to him.

"Let's go," Remus told them, "Move an inch from my side on the way to the floo and I'll be holding your hands until we get back to the cabin."

Ron looked over at Harry in horror over such a predicament. But the boy only shrugged. He was too preoccupied in deciding how he was going to explain everything to Remus—the man with the cart, the reason for following him into Knockturn Alley, the letters…

_Oh no_, Harry inwardly groaned. He'd nearly forgotten what had got them here in the first place. Dragging his feet, Harry wallowed in desolation. But he kept up alongside Remus. Nothing would make the day more wretched than having his hand held like a bloody four-year-old…

Unfortunately as they arrived home, Harry didn't have much time to conjure up an explanation. Sirius was already there. And upon hearing what went on at Diagon Alley, his godfather had sent Harry and Ron upstairs immediately.

Red-faced, but obedient, Ron had headed toward the staircase the minute he was ordered. However, he turned and waited on the first step for Harry who had strayed.

"Can I at least tell you what happened?" Harry asked weakly.

"No, you can't," Sirius answered quickly. "I meant it when I said there'd be no mucking about in Diagon Alley, you know I did. Go up to your room and wait for me. And tell Ron to pack. He's going home."

The muscles in Harry's face wanted desperately to crumple, but he gritted his teeth and blinked rapidly to prevent it.

_Please don't be mad at me_, Harry silently pleaded with his godfather, searching his face for any indication of emotion. But Sirius wouldn't look at Harry. He just seemed sad—more put-out than Harry had ever seen him.

Attempting to swallow the burning knot in his throat, Harry stared hard at the fringe on the edge of the living room rug. After several seconds of tense silence, Harry turned, his limbs cold and heavy, and walked slowly toward the stairs.

* * *

Sirius sat down tiredly on the sofa. He rested his head in his hands. After a moment, Remus moved forward and sat down next to him.

"I told Harry he could explain when we got home," Remus said softly, "That's why he didn't go up to his room right away."

Keeping his head firmly planted against his hands, Sirius nearly moaned. "I'm a failure as a godfather."

"Oh, come off it, Padfoot," Remus chided, placing a hand on the man's shoulder, "You're not a failure by any means—Harry adores you, and you know it." Remus squeezed his friend's shoulder comfortingly. "He doesn't listen to anyone the way he does you."

Sirius lifted his head slightly, glancing at Remus incredulously. "Harry's just been caught in Knockturn Alley! Why in the bloody hell would he go down there? Why? He doesn't listen. He doesn't understand how dangerous it is for him to wander around a place like that…"

"Then make him understand," Remus replied simply.

Sirius sighed heavily. "I don't know how."

"Yes, you do."

Rubbing his hand across his forehead, Sirius shook his head as if he was at a loss, but he didn't argue.

"So now," Remus continued, removing his hand from Sirius's shoulder and resting it upon his own knee, "What are you going to do about this?"

Sirius stilled his hand, pausing several seconds before speaking. He shifted his eyes towards Remus once again. "He needs his arse tanned."

"Yes, he does," Remus agreed.

"I don't like punishing him," Sirius exclaimed, shaking his head against his hands.

"What sort of parent does?"

Straightening up, Sirius laced his fingers together as he gazed thoughtfully at his friend. Remus gave him a light smile, "James and Lily would be honored to see the way you take care of Harry. You've been more of a father to him during the past couple of months than he's ever experienced in his whole life," Remus stated solemnly. "And I'm proud of you, Sirius."

Returning the smile briefly but quickly shifting his eyes to the floor, Sirius could only nod.

"Go on," Remus said quietly, "I'll take Ron for a bit. You and Harry need to talk."

Sirius snorted softly, "If only."

"You'll be all right," Remus assured him, rising from his seat on the sofa, "So will Harry."

Gazing up finally, Sirius smoothed back the few stands of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. He nodded again.

* * *

Sirius sat perched on the edge of his bed, knuckles resting against his lips. His stomach churned violently.

He hated this. _Hated_ it.

His godson was not a trouble-maker like he and James were at that age. Harry wasn't mischievous or naughty just because he _wanted _to be. He was a good kid. A good kid who'd made a colossal mistake. A dangerous one, at that.

But Remus was right; Harry needed to understand exactly what he had done—what could have happened.

Sirius' stomach rolled over again. Harry might not have even _returned_. The thought alone made him ill.

When he and James were fourteen, they'd sneaked away one summer afternoon to explore an old shack down by the seaside. They had been forbidden to play on the other side of the hill but did it anyway in a severe state of boredom. James had wanted to knock on the back door of the hovel, but Sirius made him swear not to. They sprinted away when they heard a phlegmy cough from inside and had nearly gotten lost trying to find their way back home.

It was dark and clammy and windy by the time they reached the Potters', and James' mum and dad had been sick with worry—hugging them so hard they could hardly breathe and checking them all over for bruises or injuries.

But then Mr. Potter had gone very quiet and solemn—more stern than Sirius had ever seen him—before sending both of them to separate rooms.

It was the last of three spankings Sirius had received from him. Mr. Potter had barely even spoken beforehand, but he didn't have to. He let the slipper do the talking—and it hurt. But not as much as the realization afterwards that he and _Jamie_ had done something very dangerous.

Sirius couldn't remember ever being more upset and ashamed of himself, and he'd vowed never to do anything delinquent enough to warrant such a pang in his stomach (or a sting on his arse) ever again.

He'd never even told Remus about it; only James had known how long and hard he'd cried into Mr. Potter's shirt—there had been a matching damp splotch on the other shoulder, after all.

With legs as weak as toothpicks, Sirius pushed himself up, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he dragged his feet over to the open wardrobe and crouched down.

Faded, mismatched shoes clunked against each other while he searched.

* * *

Lying on his bed, Harry turned over on his side and squeezed the corner of his pillow between his hands. His stomach hurt. And not just because he knew he was about to be punished.

Sirius was angry with him. Once again, Harry had ruined _everything_.

Five minutes earlier, Ron had finished packing, and Remus had come upstairs to collect him, assuring Harry that they'd be back later. At the moment, Harry wasn't sure whether that was comforting or not. As long as Ron was here, he knew Sirius wouldn't punish him. But now his best mate was gone. And that couldn't mean anything good…

Groaning, Harry turned his face against the pillow. He felt awful.

Not more than a minute later, Harry heard the doorknob turn. Whipping his head around unconsciously, Harry blanched when he saw Sirius slip through the door and close it softly behind him.

"Scoot over," Sirius said gently, gesturing with a jerk of his head.

Confused but willing to comply, Harry wiggled toward the middle of the bed, keeping his head on the pillow. Once Sirius had settled beside him, Harry didn't dare meet his eyes for fear of seeing the disappointment he knew was there.

"I didn't give you a chance to explain, and Remus promised you that," Sirius began, keeping his voice grave and steady. "It's not going to get you completely off the hook, but it might make you feel better."

A statement like that usually would cause Harry to spill his guts. But not today. He simply lay against his pillows and shook his head. He didn't know where to begin. And besides, if Harry was being honest with himself, he knew all along it was wrong to go to Knockturn Alley.

"You're not going to tell me?" Sirius asked, leaning closer.

"It's not that I don't want to…" Harry whispered, his voice muffled against the feathers. "It's just...embarrassing. And hard to explain."

Sirius sat up again, sighing a bit in frustration. He knew exactly what he needed to be said.

"I never thought I'd ever have to say this, especially to you, but I'm disappointed in you, Harry. You know better."

The words stung.

Harry blinked several times, his eyes burning. But using all his strength, Harry pushed back the hot tears.

"But I suppose if you don't want to talk about it now, we can afterwards," Sirius said quietly.

Afterwards.

Harry could have sicked up. His chest ached with a deep sadness at Sirius' disappointment, but figuring it was well-deserved, he turned his face away, flipping over on his stomach. Harry had effectively concealed the fastening of his jeans, hoping his godfather wouldn't notice.

* * *

Sirius froze. Before he climbed the stairs to Harry's bedroom, he'd been preparing himself for a full-blown battle. But his godson wasn't being stubborn like the first time Sirius had punished him. This was different, and for a brief moment, Sirius wasn't sure how to proceed.

Maybe Harry knew what he'd done was wrong. And he knew what to expect.

Sirius closed his eyes for an instant, trying to channel his capacity for liability as a thirteen year old. The results were slim.

A simple case of wishful thinking.

Using every bit of resolve he possessed, Sirius reached behind him and pulled out the lightweight slipper he'd found and stored in his back pocket. With heavy, clumsy limbs, Sirius exhaled deeply as he rested it on his lap.

He knew Harry was going to hate this, but Sirius reached over with both hands and turned Harry's waist to the side anyway, quickly popping the button through the fastening hole of the boy's jeans. Catching hold of both waistbands, Sirius pulled them down only as far south as they needed to go.

"I didn't mean to, Sirius…" Harry's whimpered plea was muffled against the pillow.

Sirius tried to swallow down the stinging sensation in his throat. "I know."

It was the wrong thing to say, but Sirius was unsure how else to answer.

He picked up the slipper, nearly cringing as he watched Harry hunch up his shoulders and bury his face into the pillow. The boy's neck and ears were glowing a deep pink.

Resting his hand in the middle of the tensed back, Sirius raised the slipper over Harry's bottom. Gritting his teeth, he swung it down smartly, flinching at the sharp crack of the sole smacking against bare skin.

Jerking in surprise, Harry instinctively tried to push his upper body up off the mattress and twist around to identify the sting, but Sirius only pressed his hand firmly between the narrow shoulder blades to hold him in place.

_I know it hurts, _Sirius thought, thoroughly hating himself. But he forced himself to lift the floppy slipper once again, determined to end the punishment as quickly as possible.

Realizing he was going nowhere, Harry dropped his head back down, unable to keep his legs from twitching at the second _thwack_. He held onto the edge of the mattress and pressed his face into the pillow again, nearly choking on a hoarse sob.

Sirius paused at the sound of his godson's despondent weeping. He remembered what the slipper felt like, but he didn't think that two cracks of it would cause such a reaction. Then again, it wasn't as if he was the one experiencing it at the moment...

A dull cranberry-colored splotch was slowly flushing the white skin; Sirius bit his lip. Harry had tightened up his shoulders up again to try and stifle his crying.

How in the bloody hell had James' dad dealt with both of their punishments consecutively that summer when they were fourteen? Sirius felt like he'd taken an elbow to the gut.

Holding his breath, Sirius quickly doled out three crisp spanks with the slipper. Harry stiffened and enfolded his entire head into the pillow.

Sirius blew out a rickety breath and shook his head, tossing the tattered thing to the edge of the bed. His planned _ten_ was out of the question.

He couldn't take it anymore. This was enough.

Sirius' fingers trembled slightly as he slipped Harry's clothes back up in a swift, one-handed tug; grabbing the boy under the arms, Sirius gently lifted him until he was almost sitting back on his heels.

He forced his godson to look him in the eye.

"I _love_ you, Harry James Potter," Sirius said, his own voice cracking with emotion. "Do you know that?"

The punishment had been brief, but Harry cried hard as Sirius held onto him, tears trailing down his cheeks and dripping off of his chin. He somehow managed to nod.

"And I may not be doing everything right…I'll _admit_ that I don't always know exactly how to handle things all of the time, but I'm _trying_, Harry. I don't care how many scars you have on your head or what you symbolize to other people. You are _my_ _godson_, and I'm not going to lose you to something—" He swallowed. "—something as _silly_ as a trip to Knockturn Alley. I _won't_—" Sirius broke off, his throat constricting tightly.

Harry sobbed loudly and messily as he clutched Sirius's forearms, not caring that his nose was dripping or that he was hiccupping brokenly.

"Merlin, Bub," Sirius breathed, "I do _not_ like doing that to you. C'mere."

And without waiting to be pulled close, Harry leaned in and pressed his face into Sirius's shoulder. He could barely see through the streaks on his glasses, but it didn't matter.

"No more, do you hear me?"

Harry wanted to nod—to reassure his godfather that he wouldn't mess up again. But he couldn't move. He was too ashamed of what he'd done, and his head throbbed violently.

All Harry could manage to do was grip handfuls of Sirius's shirt even tighter, the buttons pressing into his palms, and hope that his godfather understood.

TBC...

* * *


	14. Chapter 14

The skin of Harry's cheeks was smooth and tight from the dried tears. He knew he should be embarrassed—leaning his head wearily against his godfather's chest as Sirius polished the streaks off of his glasses. But for some reason, Harry just didn't care anymore. He was completely drained.

Lowering his arms, Sirius held Harry's folded glasses close to the boy's face.

"You want these?"

Harry shook his head against the warm material of Sirius's shirt. But a second later, Sirius unfolded the wire frames with his thumb and hooked them around Harry's ears anyway. Too exhausted to put up a fight, Harry simply lifted his head a bit and allowed Sirius to push the wire frames up onto his nose.

Then placing his hand against the side of Harry's face, Sirius guided the messy head back to his chest.

"I'm such an idiot," Harry mumbled quietly, closing his eyes against the pounding in his temples.

Harry felt Sirius's fingers against his hair. "No, you're not."

"Yeah, I am," Harry argued weakly, sniffling noisily, "That was the stupidest plan we've ever come up with." The more Harry thought about what he and Ron had just done, the more embarrassed he became. It was ridiculous. And now Harry was in trouble, and everyone—including Snape—knew about it.

"Well," Sirius began, as he tucked his hands under Harry's arms and lifted him off the mattress slightly, moving him back a foot, "It's not the smartest thing you've ever done, Bub, I agree with you there."

Harry didn't know what to say. He simply stared at the material of his jeans and began mopping up his runny nose with the backs of his hands.

"No, don't do that," Sirius admonished gently, reaching over and pulling Harry's hands away from his face, "Just a minute…"

Sirius pushed himself off of the bed and walked toward the bedroom door. Harry watched as Sirius pulled open the door and rounded the corner hastily.

Sinuses clogged and still feeling a bit miserable, Harry slowly scooted back to lean against the headboard. As he did so, he caught sight of the old, flaccid slipper resting on the edge of the bed and felt the heat rise in his face, prickling his cheeks.

_So that's what that thing was…_

His bottom still pulsed slightly with a tingling burn. But Harry knew in a half-hour, the sting would vanish. Nevertheless, if he wanted the ache of his stomach to go away, he knew he'd have to tell Sirius the truth.

All of it.

Harry briefly thought about shoving the slipper under his bed just in case. Maybe after hearing everything, Sirius would decide that he deserved a few more wallops. But something inside Harry told him that his spanking was over. His unexpected, uncontrollable sobbing seemed to have finalized that particular occasion. He'd seen the look in Sirius's eyes as the man gathered him in his arms. And Harry was sorrier than ever for causing it.

Sniffling again, Harry listened to the noises coming from the upstairs bathroom. Sirius had just turned off the faucet and seemed to be finishing up whatever he was doing in there. Sitting with his legs straight out in front of him, Harry stared at his toes while he waited for his godfather to return.

As Sirius came back into the bedroom, he offered Harry the smallest of smiles. Harry wished he could return it. But instead, he folded his legs up and made room for Sirius to sit beside him.

Plopping down, Sirius handed Harry a bundle of tissues.

"Thanks," Harry said softly, as he immediately began to mop up the last few traces of dampness on his cheeks. Sirius sat quietly as he waited for Harry to finish blowing his nose.

When Harry had set aside the waded tissues, Sirius handed him a warm, wet washcloth.

"What's this for?" Harry asked, his voice still laced with tears.

"It's for your eyes," Sirius replied, "It'll make them feel better."

Harry nodded and removed his glasses. Automatically, Sirius took them from his hand. Folding the cloth in half, Harry leaned his head back and placed it against his eyes. The edges of the cloth had cooled but the center was still very warm. The heat soothed his puffy, itchy lids and made him feel sleepy.

"When your dad and I were young, your grandpa used to bring us warm washcloths sometimes to help us wake up in the morning."

The gentle murmur of Sirius's voice helped Harry relax as he pressed his fingers more tightly against his cloth-covered eyes. "How did it wake you up?" Harry muttered, "It makes me more tired…"

Harry felt a gentle tug against his hands as Sirius reached up and removed the washcloth. Instantly, cool air rushed over Harry's lids, refreshing him.

"Oh…" Harry said, blinking rapidly, "I guess you're right."

Sirius smiled. He placed the cloth against Harry's slightly raw, pink cheeks and held it on each side for a few seconds before tossing it onto the night table and handing him back his glasses.

They sat together for a moment without talking. Harry nibbled on his bottom lip and moved his toes around the inside of his socks a bit while he waited for Sirius to say something.

"You ready to tell me?" Sirius questioned his nervous-looking godson.

But Harry knew that even though Sirius had worded it as a request, the subject wasn't really up for debate. The man expected an explanation.

And finally, Harry nodded.

"All right," Sirius said, nodding once to let Harry know he was listening.

Feeling childish and ashamed, Harry scooted to the other side of his bed and slid off of the mattress.

"Hold on," Harry told Sirius as the boy kneeled down.

Lifting up the edge of his comforter, Harry ducked underneath the bed and reached for _Rare and Life-Altering Herbs_. He kept his head against the bedsprings a bit longer than necessary, scarcely believing that after his attempt to hide the evidence so carefully, he was finally giving himself up. Hoping desperately that Sirius wouldn't be angry, Harry took a deep breath as he clutched the book in one arm and pushed himself out from under the bed.

Holding the book close to his stomach, Harry hoisted himself back up on the bed.

"What've you got there?" Sirius asked gently, leaning over to get a better look.

However, Harry didn't answer right away. Tucking his feet underneath his thighs so that he was sitting cross-legged, Harry placed the book in his lap. He ran his thumb over the binding, tracing the worn, gold lettering with his fingers.

"Hey, Sirius?"

"What, Bub?" the man asked, remaining calm and patient as he surveyed Harry's absent fidgeting.

"If I explain all of this to you, you're going to be angry, aren't you…"

Sirius frowned a bit in confusion. But then he quickly understood as he watched as Harry's eyes flicker from the book to the slipper that still lay at the foot of the bed. A part of felt a little guilty for punishing Harry. It was the same every time—Sirius couldn't help it, even if he knew he'd done the right thing.

He reached over and patted Harry lightly on the knee. "What makes you think I'd be angry? You're going to tell me the truth."

"Yeah, I know," Harry said, "It's just…you're going to think the whole thing's mental…"

"Maybe," Sirius replied with a shrug.

Harry glanced up with a worried look on his face.

"And maybe not," the man continued. He gave Harry a small wink.

Harry sighed heavily, his stomach knotting again. He gazed back down at the rough, dark cover of the book. He picked at a lose thread. Suddenly, he felt Sirius's fingers underneath his chin, lifting his face.

Sirius pinned him with a solemn look. "You need to tell me what's going on."

Inwardly groaning, Harry bit his lip hard.

_Just get it over with_, he thought.

And grasping the book tightly with his right hand, the palm damp from anticipation, Harry finally held the volume out to Sirius—hidden parchment and all.

When his godfather took it from him, Harry resisted the urge to clap his hands over his face. He figured he was doomed. For the next couple of minutes Harry intently watched Sirius's face for signs of anger or maybe even amusement as he skimmed through the book and unfolded the notes. Harry anxiously chewed on his thumbnail, but he couldn't tell what Sirius was thinking.

"It's from Remus's library," Harry mumbled around the tip of his thumb, "I…erm…I found it the night when I got hit in the face with that book. Remember?"

"Yes, I remember," Sirius answered quietly, still engrossed in the letters.

"Well…I…er…took it," Harry said, feeling his neck burn hotly.

Sirius glanced up, "I figured that much. Keep going."

"Oh…" Harry felt extremely idiotic, but he continued. "Well, when Ron came over, he noticed right away that the erm…handwriting was Snape's…well, and Remus's," Harry nearly whispered.

Still holding onto the limp parchment but now staring at his godson, Sirius nodded.

Harry gazed up at Sirius timidly. But he could already tell that his godfather wasn't going to yell or make a mad dash for the slipper. Sirius wasn't smiling, but his eyes were soft and attentive.

Oddly, Sirius hadn't reacted the way Harry had expected him to after hearing that Remus had once had a secret conversation with Snape, but now wasn't the time to embark on an investigation—not even a mental one.

Giving his thumbnail a final nibble, Harry finally dropped his hand heavily onto his lap.

Then he told Sirius everything…as quickly as possible. Harry tried not to dwell too much on the details, but he figured if he were being honest with Sirius, he might as well fill him in on even the petty stuff. After all, how often did one see a barmy, sweaty bloke in violet, pointy shoes?

When he'd finished, Harry found himself gazing back down at his socks. He tugged at the toe of the white cotton stocking as he waited for a reaction.

Sirius sat quietly for a moment, resting his chin in his hands as he thought.

"So you followed this nutter because you thought he may know something about a plant that would keep Remus from turning into a werewolf?"

"Er…yeah," Harry muttered. God, they'd been stupid. Without meaning to, he tugged his sock completely off of his foot.

Harry stared at his bare toes for a second before Sirius reached over and plucked the sock from his hand, leaning over and tossing it onto the floor. As he did so, he gave the slipper a light nudge with his hand. It slipped off the edge of the bed onto the hardwood with a dull _splat_.

Harry lifted his eyes only far enough to catch the look on Sirius's face. To Harry's utter surprise, the man seemed to be almost smiling. It was a sad smile, but at least he wasn't scowling.

"You have a kind heart, you know that?" Sirius said gently.

Harry just stared.

"You put others before yourself. And _sometimes_ that's a good thing," Sirius continued, holding up a hand before Harry could say anything. "But you have a bad habit of putting yourself in dangerous situations without thinking about what's going to come from it."

"I know…" Harry whispered, feeling embarrassed again. Even though the scolding was mild, it was coming from Sirius. And nothing felt worse than that.

"Yes, I know that you know," Sirius agreed with a nod, "You knew what you'd done was wrong, even before your punishment. I could tell…"

Harry nodded soberly. Was that why he'd gotten such a short spanking? Not that Harry was complaining…that thing stung.

"There's nothing more dangerous than wandering around Knockturn Alley by yourself," Sirius exclaimed, continuing the lecture. "But you knew that, didn't you?"

Nodding again, Harry went ahead and rid his other foot of the remaining sock.

"But you went anyway."

"I'm sorry…" Harry whispered, sounding as genuine as he possibly could. He hated this.

"I know you are, Bub—look at me please…"

Harry slowly lifted his head, piercing his godfather with eyes that were shiny and full of regret.

Sirius reached over and smoothed a thumb along the small row of knuckles on Harry's hand. "You wanted to help Remus. I understand," Sirius said gently, "But how do you suppose he felt during those few minutes when he had no idea where you two had gone?"

Swallowing roughly, Harry bit his lip again. He hadn't thought about that.

"And if you hadn't come back..." Sirius croaked, the words scraping against his throat like gravel, "If something would have happened to you in Knockturn Alley, do you have any idea—"

But Sirius had stopped speaking. His eyes held the same devastated expression as they had several moments ago. He exhaled brokenly.

_Oh, god,_ Harry thought. He could hardly look at Sirius. It hurt. _How could I have not thought about that…what's wrong with me?_

"I can't think of anything worse," Sirius finally exclaimed, his thumb still trailing along Harry's hand.

Harry felt his throat swell, but he wouldn't allow himself to cry again. He was done feeling sorry for himself. And besides, tears wouldn't help anything. Maybe it was time to just grow up and accept that he'd made a huge mistake.

"I'm really sorry, Sirius," Harry said, shoving down the lump in his throat.

Sirius squeezed Harry's fingers together gently and nodded, gazing at his godson's small hand.

After a moment, Sirius cleared his throat. He glanced up at Harry determinedly, "You owe Remus an explanation."

"I know." But inwardly, Harry's stomach crinkled with dread. It had been bad enough telling all of this to Sirius. Now he'd have to do it all over again.

"And afterwards, I want you to stay in your room for the rest of the day and think about everything that's happened. You can do the same tomorrow."

Harry nodded. He supposed two days worth of grounding wasn't so bad.

"Your Firebolt's staying on the ground until I say it's okay," Sirius continued.

Harry felt his shoulders sag a few inches. He should have known that wouldn't be all.

"And I don't think I need to spell out what'll happen if you ever do something like this again, do I? Sirius said, ducking his head so that he was looking right at Harry.

Shaking his head slowly, Harry felt his cheeks go pink again.

_Nope_, he thought, _those five swats were more than enough_.

"All right, then," Sirius replied with a firm, settling nod. "When they get back, I'll send Ron up to say goodbye. You can explain everything to Remus after."

"Okay," Harry said with a small sigh, "But can I do it by myself? I mean, I made the choice to take that book from his library and everything. I shouldn't have pulled Ron into it…"

Sirius gazed at him a few seconds longer before reaching over and smoothing back Harry's fringe like he always did, "_That_, Harry, is a very brave thing to do. Taking responsibility is something I didn't learn how to do until I was much older than you are now…"

Harry tried to smile. But he didn't feel very brave. He still felt like the world's biggest dolt.

Sirius stood up. "I'll take Ron back to the Burrow while you and Remus talk. Go ahead and rest for a bit." As discreetly as possible, he stooped down and picked up the old slipper, pocketing it quickly.

Harry nodded weakly.

Pausing at the door, Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Go on, Bub, rest your eyes," Sirius said nodding toward Harry's pillow.

Sighing, Harry scooted forward on his seat, slowly sinking into the soft pile of pillows. He turned on his side and watched as Sirius closed the door, leaving it open a crack.

As much as Harry wanted to close his tired, gritty eyes, he knew he wouldn't be able to relax. He didn't know how he was going to explain everything to Remus. It made his stomach churn just thinking about it.

Absently, Harry chewed on the end of his thumb. He seemed to be doing that more and more lately… Listening to the tick of the clock on his night table—his heart drumming faster and more quickly, Harry waited for Ron to return.

TBC...

* * *

Yes, a short chapter. But hopefully you enjoyed it :) You guys are taking the time out to leave me the greatest reviews, and I really appreciate them. Thank you so much. 


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Your reviews have been fantastic. Thank you. I hope you don't mind the sudden mantra of shorter chapters, but I find it's easier to post more quickly :) I hope you enjoy!**

Ron entered Harry's bedroom with a grim look on his face. Immediately, Harry pushed himself up from his pillows. He'd been listening to the solemn tick of his bedside clock for the past twenty minutes. But it had seemed much longer.

Closing the door softly, Ron walked over and sat on the edge of Harry's bed, propping a leg up as he did so.

"You okay, Harry?" Ron asked carefully.

Harry felt his stomach jolt a bit and wondered if his eyes were still puffy. But Ron wasn't an idiot. He had to know that Harry had just gotten punished, especially since Harry had admitted to Ron exactly how bad he'd _catch it_ if he were caught in Knockturn Alley.

"Yeah, I'm all right," Harry replied quickly, scooting backwards in a slightly bouncy manner towards his headboard as if to prove to his friend that his rear end didn't hurt anymore.

And really, it didn't.

Ron nodded his understanding. "Is Sirius still angry, though?" He gazed at Harry in a squinty, benevolent way.

Harry shook his head. Pulling a pillow from behind him, he set it on his lap and tucked one of his hands into the open end.

"I don't think so, anyway," Harry elaborated half-heartedly, "But I'm in massive trouble…"

Ron snorted lightly. "Not as much trouble as I'll be in, mate."

Harry glanced up. "I'm grounded for two days."

"That's all?" Ron exclaimed, his voice raising an octave. "Bloody hell, Harry, I'll be grounded for the rest of the summer."

Twisting his face into a considerable expression, Harry attempted to console his friend.

"My Firebolt's getting locked in the closet…probably for the rest of the hols. That's nearly as bad…"

Ron's face broke into a half-painful, half-amused grin. "I bet if I had a broomstick, Mum would shrink it and clean out Pig's cage with it after she found out what we did."

"No, she wouldn't," Harry said with a small laugh.

"I wouldn't put it past her, mate…"

Harry smiled weakly. He smoothed his hand back and forth across the pillow. "Sorry you have to leave," Harry mumbled.

Fidgeting with the hem of his too-short trousers, Ron shrugged. "Yeah, I know—not that it's your fault or anything. Well, it's both our faults, I guess…" the boy plodded on thoughtfully, "But it's fun here. I had a good time...you know, until we got busted."

Harry bit his lip guiltily.

Ron paused for a few seconds before glancing up at his friend. "I'm sorry you got walloped," he said genuinely. "I'm probably gonna get it, too…"

Not really knowing how to respond, Harry simply raised an eyebrow in a slightly surprised, yet understanding gesture. His ears were burning, but at least he wasn't the only one who still got spankings…

"How come we're always in trouble, you suppose?" Ron inquired after a few seconds of staring at his old, overstuffed duffle that rested patiently on the floor by his foot.

Scratching a place on his upper arm through his t-shirt, Harry considered this. The Sorcerer's Stone…flying car…Forbidden Forest…Shrieking Shack…Knockturn Alley… It's not like they meant to get caught up in all of those instances. They just sort of…happened.

"Dunno," Harry said with a shrug.

But in reality, Harry knew they took stupid risks. _He _took too many risks. Maybe he didn't realize it when he was younger because he just didn't have anything to lose. The Dursleys would probably care less if Harry snuffed it. Sure, a few of his teachers appeared to be concerned, Dumbledore especially. But helping others had usually been the source of his mischief. But until now, he'd never actually thought—really taken a minute to think—about the people he was hurting by risking his life. And the thought of leaving Sirius alone was truly unbearable…

He abruptly changed the subject.

"I've got to tell Lupin everything after Sirius takes you home…"

Ron's eyes widened, his pale eyebrows disappearing underneath his ginger fringe. "He's going with me?"

"Well, yeah," Harry replied, frowning slightly, "Why wouldn't he?"

"I dunno," Ron said awkwardly, "I guess I just thought…I dunno."

"What?"

"I just thought he'd send a letter…or something," Ron muttered, blushing.

"Why would he do that—"

But then Harry stopped. A vision of the smoking Howler from their second year swam to the front of Harry's memory. Harry knew Mrs. Weasley had a difficult time holding back when she was angry. But with Fred and George for sons, Harry could see why she was like that. However, it was obvious that Ron didn't want Sirius to see him get in trouble.

And Harry couldn't help but sympathize with his best mate. After all, _his_ punishment had been in private.

Harry twisted the corner of the pillowcase. "He won't stay long," he assured the redhead. "He probably just wants to explain to your mum and dad why you've gone back early."

Ron nodded but didn't say anything.

"Plus," Harry continued, tossing the pillow behind him. It landed in a diamond-shaped lump. "I asked Sirius to let me tell Remus everything on my own. It'll be bad enough trying to explain—"

"Oh, I told him, mate," Ron interrupted casually, "Well, some of it, anyway..."

"You _what?_"

"Well, I had to say _something_," Ron exclaimed, "It was too quiet, and he was looking at me like—you know the way he looks in class when he wants everyone to stop talking?"

Harry nodded

"Well, he had that look like he was expecting me tell him why we ran off…"

"What did you tell him?" Harry asked leaning forward, his palms prickling with sweat. His stomach turned over.

"Just that we found out about a plant that might cure werewolves, and we wanted to try and find it for him so he could be our teacher again."

"Did he ask you how you found out about it?" Harry continued feverishly. If he knew how Remus had reacted to Ron, he could better prepare himself…

"No, we didn't really get into that," Ron admitted, "He sort of just lectured me about how dangerous Knockturn Alley is. Same thing dad's told me, really—"

Harry felt his insides crumple at this news. Learning that Ron had already spilled a bit caught him off guard. Part of Harry felt grateful that Remus wasn't completely in the dark; however, now he had to think of a completely new way to approach the subject. Where would he begin?

"I think maybe he knows about the book, Harry…" Ron said soberly, "Why else wouldn't he have asked about it?"

"It doesn't matter," Harry croaked, "I was going to tell him anyway."

Suddenly, they both heard Sirius calling them from the stairs. Harry watched Ron grimace in dread. He exhaled heavily, feeling just as reluctant, although not nearly as miserable as he'd felt before he'd told Sirius.

Groaning, Ron stood, scooping up his duffle bag as he slid off of Harry's bed.

Harry's cheeks puffed out as he exhaled noisily again. He pushed himself of the bed and walked towards Ron, his fingers catching on a tangle as he combed them through his fringe.

Slowly, they dragged their feet toward the stairs.

"Oi," Ron exclaimed softly, suddenly turning around and patting the side of his duffle. The pocket was unzipped. "The fireworks! I forgot Sirius still has them… You don't think he'll tell Mum, do you?" He gazed up at Harry with desperation.

Harry nearly rolled his eyes, making a face. "What difference does it make?"

"What _difference?_ Fireworks on top of Knockturn Alley! Come _on_, mate!" Ron said in a panic.

Sirius called them a second time. However, Ron still stood in frozen stupor.

"What? It's not like things could get any worse…"

Nearly ignoring his friend, Ron gave a strange whimper.

"Buggering hell, Ron, just go!" Harry breathed, giving him a light shove towards the stairs.

* * *

Remus had listened patiently. But Harry found it difficult to look him in the eye. When Harry had finished, he waited for a reaction from the man who was once his favorite professor. Studying the microscopic ridges in the material of the sofa, Harry noticed that the clenching of his stomach had subsided somewhat, but still, he was anxious…

"You know, Harry," Remus began, "If you would have come to me when you had found the parchment I would have told you right away what it was about…"

_Dammit_, Harry thought, closing his eyes. _It wasn't a secret after all_.

"Granted," Lupin continued in his usual placid voice, "You probably shouldn't have picked it up in the first place."

"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled, glancing up hesitantly.

"Yes, I can see that you understand now. But I have to say that I'm rather surprised you went through the trouble of seeking out such a rare herb."

Harry perked up. "You mean, it actually exists?"

"No," Remus answered immediately, "Most likely not. It's never been found anyway."

Harry's stomach sank.

"However, that doesn't mean you and Ron are the only ones who have attempted to search for it."

"We're not?" Harry nearly whispered. God, he felt like a pathetic child.

Remus smiled softly and shook his head, "No, Harry. In fact when Professor Snape and I were only two years younger than you are now, we believed the rumors to be very possible."

Of course Harry hadn't been the only one to become enthralled by the plant. Remus had searched for it as well. For some reason, the thought of an eleven-year-old Remus desperately searching for a cure he'd never find made Harry's heart ache hollowly. But at least Lupin hadn't been alone…

"Were you _really_ friends with Snape?" Harry couldn't help but ask. The whole concept was just too bizarre. However, he remembered Sirius telling him that Remus had never had it out for Snape like the others had. Maybe this was why.

Remus crossed his legs and leaned back into the cushions. "For a good portion of our first year, Severus and I were acquainted," he explained, "Sirius and James had known each other before they came to Hogwarts, and I was too shy to join them right away. I suppose I felt a bit out-of-place."

Harry nodded. He knew what that felt like.

"But why Snape?" Harry continued probing, "How could you stand him?"

Remus paused for a moment in pensive silence.

"People aren't always as they seem, Harry," he said finally, "I'm afraid Professor Snape was as lonely as I was during that first year. It always seemed as if something were bothering him. We sat together a few times in Potions and other subjects when many of the seats were full—"

"And no one gave you a hard time about that?" Harry cut in.

Remus sighed. "I suppose after a while they did," he admitted, "Getting pressured by your peers is quite effective when you're eleven, unfortunately."

Harry's head swirled with this new information.

"But if you started hanging out with my dad and Sirius after a while….if you weren't friends with Snape, why did he make you the Wolfsbane potion when you started at Hogwarts? Why does he still?"

Smiling sadly again, Remus reached over and squeezed Harry's shoulder twice before resting his arm on the back of the sofa, "I don't know."

Harry shook his head slowly as he thought. Part of it made sense, but a lot more was confusing.

"Even if you were friends with Snape for a few months back then, that doesn't change the fact that he's a git now. He treats everybody but the Slytherins like rubbish…" Harry tilted his head inquisitively. "Why are you nice to him? Why do you keep those letters?"

Perhaps it wasn't his business to ask about such a thing, just like it hadn't been his business to go sifting through them. But now that they'd come this far, Harry had to know.

Remus looked at Harry solemnly. The conversation hadn't been nearly as bad as Harry had expected. And the gentleness of Remus's words and actions gave Harry the strength to gaze back just as seriously.

"You may be a bit young to fully understand something like this," Remus began, "And that's not an insult, mind you—"

"No, I know," Harry said. And he was being honest. Remus was never condescending, and that's one of the things that Harry appreciated about him the most.

"I suppose I've kept them to remind me that innocence is very delicate."

Harry scrunched his face up as he listened, trying to understand.

"We are molded by our surroundings, Harry," Remus continued, "And though we may not realize it, the way we are treated by others when we are young has an enormous impact on what we become when we're older. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, sort of," Harry replied. But his brain often worked overtime, and already, he was trying to connect Remus's words to his situation with Snape. "So did he give you that book?"

"No, we found it in the library."

Harry nodded. "I can't imagine Snape being nice, though. It's weird."

Remus chuckled softly. "I believe kindness exists in everyone at one point. But it rarely remains pure and selfless, unlike the kindness that exists in _your_ heart, Harry. Although you get into more trouble than any child I know, you did this to help me, and for that, I'm very grateful."

Harry felt his cheeks warm.

"But you will never do something like this again, Harry. Not for me, not for anyone. Is that clear?" Remus chided.

"Yes, sir," Harry whispered, his face growing even hotter, from the sudden scolding. He knew it was going to come sooner or later. "I'm sorry we worried you."

Remus nodded in acceptance.

They sat quietly for a short while. Harry wanted to say something more than a simple 'I'm sorry', but he couldn't find the words. He didn't know what else to say. Finally, a random thought popped into his head.

"Do you want me to go get your book?" Harry asked timidly.

Remus raised his eyebrows, acknowledging the question. "My book…" he repeated.

However, before Lupin could decide, green flames spewed out from the fireplace and Sirius stepped onto the rug. He had a funny look on his face.

"What?" Harry asked, squinting at his godfather's expression.

Sirius smoothed his dark hair away from his face as he lowered himself into the nearby armchair. Hand still laced through the top of his hair, Sirius exhaled in one swift breath.

"You okay?" Harry asked him again. He stood up from the sofa and walked over to where Sirius sat.

Once he was at arms-length, Sirius grasped the back of Harry's shirt lightly and pulled him until he stumbled back into a sitting position on the arm of the chair.

Harry glanced over his shoulder.

"I know you admire Ron's parents, Bub, but today you'd better be thankful you are _not_ a Weasley…" Sirius said, shaking his head.

Harry cringed in sympathy. He was about to ask what had gone on at the Burrow, but Harry figured he'd hear it from Ron soon enough.

"Everything all right?" Sirius inquired, glancing between Remus and Harry. He reached up and gently scratched Harry's back between his shoulder blades. The boy tilted his head tiredly to the side as he balanced on the arm of the chair.

"Yes?" Sirius prodded. He stilled his hand, leaning forward and shifting his eyes towards Harry. "No?"

"Hmmm?" Harry asked.

"Nap?"

"What? No, I'm up!" Harry exclaimed, suddenly alert. "What did you say?"

"Everything's fine, Sirius," Remus spoke up, attempting to keep the smile out of his voice at the amusing banter between the two but failing.

"Good," Sirius said, struggling not laugh at his godson's expense. "I believe your bedroom's calling your name, Harry James. Do you hear it?"

"No…"

"Up you go," Sirius prompted, patting Harry on the thigh to get him moving.

"All right," Harry said with a sigh as he slid off of the armchair and walked toward the kitchen.

"I'll be up later," Sirius assured him.

"Okay."

Harry gave a small wave to Remus as he left the living room.

"See you later, Harry," Remus said kindly.

Although Harry was already halfway through the kitchen, he nodded anyway. Harry couldn't help smiling a bit as well. Yes, he was stuck in his room for two days. But he felt so much better.

Reaching for the banister, Harry took the steps two at a time.

TBC...

* * *

Well, just so you know, the whole Snape/Lupin thing isn't a Dumbledore/Grindelwald situation. ;)

Anyway, what did you think? For some reason, this story is so much easier to write than my other one. I was literally nauseous after staring at the computer for so long at the end of Chapter 17 of Emerald Eyes. lol. Odd? Yes. I have no answers.

Did I mention your reviews are the greatest? I'm so flattered that so many of you are enjoying this story. So, any predictions on whether or not Harry will stay up in his bedroom for the next two days?

Have a great night, guys! A new chapter should be up soon!


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Not a ton of action in this chapter, but quite a lot of Sirius and Harry INTERaction... And we all know how much we love _that_... ;) Enjoy!**

Harry was hanging off the edge of his bed, scratching his fingernails across the ridges in the floorboards.

Every so often, he'd lift his head and glance at the clock on his bedside table.

It was official. Four o'clock was never going to come.

Groaning and mumbling a couple of choice swearwords that he'd never let fly in front of Sirius, Harry went back to tracing invisible patterns on the wood.

He'd spent the first fifteen minutes of his grounding lying idly on his bed. But after that, Harry knew he wouldn't be able to spend the rest of the afternoon doing nothing but thinking. Yes, he'd been irresponsible. No, he wouldn't do it again. Of course, he'd thought about putting the slipper through a meat grinder. But he wouldn't do that either.

Harry had learned his lesson.

For a brief moment, Harry considered organizing his wardrobe—a task that would surely make Hermione beam with pride if she knew. But he immediately chucked that idea out the window, deciding that he'd only tidy his things if he became utterly desperate.

Harry turned his head toward the clock again.

Three fifty-six.

Suddenly, a soft knock sounded at the door.

"Finally!" Harry breathed in relief. He twisted his torso around, watching as Sirius turned the knob and let himself inside the bedroom.

As Sirius closed the door behind him, he furrowed his brows at Harry in an amused way. The boy was still draped over the edge of his bed as if he were looking for a lost sock underneath the mattress. His t-shirt had climbed halfway up his back as he hung awkwardly.

"Fancy a brain hemorrhage?" Sirius asked casually as he walked towards Harry.

And leaning down, he reached over and poked both of his index fingers into the bare skin on either side of his godson's belly.

Instantly, Harry exploded into frantic laughter, rolling away from Sirius as the man sat down next to him on the bed. Holding both arms protectively across his stomach, Harry lay diagonally on his back, panting with exertion and hilarity.

"I hate that…" Harry said breathlessly, but the playful look on his red face told otherwise.

"What in the world were you doing, you nutter?" Sirius asked as he relaxed back on an elbow.

Harry tugged down his shirt and propped himself up against his headboard.

"Nothing. I'm just bored."

"You're _bored_?" Sirius repeated in mock incredulity.

"Yeah…" Harry commented dryly, slumping against his headboard.

"Well this _is_ your punishment, Harry, you're not supposed to be having fun up here in your prison tower," Sirius continued, more seriously.

But Harry couldn't help the small smile that crept onto his lips at the words _prison tower_. He knew that Sirius was exaggerating on purpose to cheer him up.

Sirius stared at his godson for a few seconds longer before raising an eyebrow and nudging Harry's dead-weight foot with a finger. "There's nothing productive you can do up here?"

"I don't want to tidy…" Harry mumbled sulkily.

"You don't have to do that," his godfather replied. "But you may as well find something to do so you're not wasting away with boredom. What about homework?"

Harry made a face and clunked his head lightly against the wood behind him. "Ugh…no way."

"But are you finished?"

Sirius widened his eyes as he gazed at Harry expectantly.

"Er…"

"Careful..." Sirius exclaimed, a trace of warning edged his tone.

Harry scratched the bridge of his nose. He wasn't in the mood to begin writing the three essays he hadn't even mentally outlined yet. But he wasn't going to lie to Sirius. Not anymore.

"No," he answered quietly, "I'm not completely finished."

"You've got _some_ of it done then," Sirius clarified, nodding for emphasis.

"Well…" Harry muttered, scrunching up his toes inside of his socks.

Sirius gave him a _look_.

"I guess I haven't started…"

"You _guess_?" Sirius continued. But by the softness of the man's features, Harry knew his godfather was only teasing.

"It's Potions and History of Magic and Herbology, and together that's like…seven feet worth of writing, Sirius," Harry explained desperately. He sat up straighter.

"_Seven _feet?" Sirius remarked, scrunching up his eyes in disbelief.

"Four for Snape, two for Binns, one for Professor Sprout," Harry recited automatically. He crossed his feet underneath his legs and leaned forward into his lap. "Snape's completely mental when it comes to summer work…"

Gazing above Harry's head, Sirius appeared to be calculating out the length.

"Hmm," Sirius began thoughtfully after a bit of consideration, "I'd do Snape's first to get it over with."

Disgusted with the prospect, Harry smacked his face into his propped up, open hands. "I hate Potions," the boy mumbled through smashed cheeks.

"But you've got to do it anyway, right?" Sirius offered in a logical sort of way. He shifted a bit on his elbow. "_Right_?" the man reiterated.

"I hate it…"

"Right," Sirius finalized with a nod, answering his own question. He reached over and gathered Harry's wrists up, pulling his hands away from his face. "Come on, Bub." Sirius pushed himself off of Harry's bed, pulling his godson with him as he stood.

Harry bit back a miserable groan as he slid off of his mattress.

"Where're your school things?" Sirius asked as he led Harry over to his desk.

"In my closet…" Harry mumbled.

"All right, then," his godfather replied, then smiled softly as he surveyed the pitiful expression on Harry's face. "I swear, come the end of July, you'll thank me for making you do this now…what about your other subjects?"

Harry shrugged, scratching at his side where Sirius had poked him. "Just reading."

"Well, you get busy writing, and in an hour I'll bring up some supper for you," Sirius said. "You want some butterbeer while you work?"

"I can't eat downstairs with you?" Harry asked, ignoring the question. He was going to go crazy up here.

Sirius twisted his mouth in thought.

"Please?"

Slowly Harry began to hoist himself up on the desktop. But even though Sirius was clearly still pondering over the matter, he reached over and tapped Harry twice on the lower back, gesturing with his head for the boy to get off of the moderately-sturdy desk.

Sighing, Harry instantly slid down.

He knew he was supposed to stay up here for two days, but perhaps if Sirius would let him go downstairs for supper, he'd let him work on some of his homework in the living room. And then later they could play cards or something…or Sirius could look over his essay if it was—

"No, I don't think so, Harry…you need to just stay up here in your room until Monday, all right?" Sirius said gently.

Harry felt his shoulders slump in disappointment. Well, it was worth a try…

"But what if I get crumbs everywhere?"

Tightening his face against a laugh, Sirius shook his head. "You're right; maybe a bib wouldn't hurt…" He began walking towards the door.

Harry stared. "Are you joking?"

"Yes," Sirius replied shortly without turning around. He left Harry's door open as he made his way toward the stairs. "Get started on something, please," he called out, his footsteps muffled and even on the wooden steps. "I'll bring up a drink in a little while."

"Okay…" Harry answered back, scowling a bit as he padded over to his closet.

He really, _really_ didn't want to do any homework. Sure, Harry'd looked forward to doing his summer assignments the past couple of years when he stayed with the Dursleys. But who could blame him? Now, he'd much rather be spending time with Sirius or doing something he actually enjoyed.

Kneeling down, Harry wrenched his heavy schoolbag out from the back of the closet using both hands. It was so heavy that the weight of his satchel knocked him back on his heels.

_It's those damn extra books Hermione forced on me_…Harry thought.

At least this time he wouldn't have to go traipsing through Lupin's library to find a load of books for his essays…

* * *

Setting down his quill, Harry leaned in close to his parchment and blew on the ink. He glanced over his shoulder. It was a little after eight o'clock.

"Not bad," Harry said quietly to himself as he lifted the long sheet of parchment off the table and looked over his work. He still didn't give a rat's arse about natural herbs used in mood-adjusting potions, but at least what he'd written made sense.

With a break for supper, it'd only taken Harry about three and a half hours to complete Snape's beast of an essay. And Sirius was right: the other two essays he needed to write seemed very slight next to his finished one. Of course, it wasn't perfect. But mostly everyone's summer work was rubbish anyway. Everyone but Hermione's, at least…

Harry swung his feet underneath the desk, the soles of his bare feet swishing against the floor. A couple of hours ago, Harry had stacked his empty dishes and bottle of butterbeer on his tray in order to bring them back downstairs. But the second his foot was over the threshold, the loaded tray vanished into thin air. Harry had nearly punched the wall in frustration, figuring that Sirius had done that on purpose.

But if he were being honest with himself, Harry had to admit that once he got downstairs, it would be very difficult to go back up…well, unless he was forced.

Strangely, the butterbeer had made him thirsty after a while. It had been tolerable while he was working on his essay, but now, his throat was begging for water.

Scooting off of his chair, Harry placed a heavy book on top of the flimsy parchment to keep it from floating under the bed on accident. Moving toward the door, he tentatively put one toe outside of his room, as if he were testing his bathwater.

The house was quiet and had been for quite a while, aside from the occasional clink of a dish and rustle of paper. Harry walked over to the railing at the top of the stairs and leaned over.

"Hey, Sirius?" he called out.

No answer.

Inwardly cheering, Harry slinked around the railing and stood at the top of the steps.

He thought about calling out for his godfather again, but of course, he didn't want to shout at a time like this. Maybe Sirius was reading…

Slowly, Harry descended the stairs one at a time. However, when he got to the fifth step from the bottom, it creaked noisily.

Harry froze, wincing as he listened.

A pause.

"Harry?" Sirius's voice echoed from the next room.

A second later, Harry heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Looking over his shoulder wildly, Harry thought about running back up the stairs and diving onto his bed. But instead, he took a hold of the banister and plopped down on his seat.

Turning the corner, Sirius gazed at Harry suspiciously. "Bub, what are you doing?"

Harry bit his lip. He tried to look as innocent as possible. "Can I have a glass of water? he asked weakly. "My throat's really dry."

A smile tugged at the corners of Sirius's mouth. He winked fondly at Harry. "Sure, I'll be right back."

But as soon as Sirius walked back toward the kitchen, Harry made a face. It'd only been about six hours, but he felt like he hadn't seen the first floor in a week. Stretching his legs out in front of him, Harry tried to touch the landing with his toes. Nope. Still too short.

Sirius returned quickly carrying a tall glass filled to the brim with cold water.

"Thanks," Harry said gratefully as he took the glass and began gulping it down. Nothing tasted better than water when he was truly thirsty. When he was finished, he handed it back to Sirius, swiping the back of his wrist across his mouth as he did so.

"Merlin, you weren't kidding," Sirius remarked, holding the empty glass by his thigh as he leaned against the wall.

Harry gave him a half-smile.

"How's your essay coming?" his godfather inquired.

"I'm done," Harry replied simply, rocking his heel side to side against the edge of the bottom step.

"You _are_?" Sirius said, surprised.

Harry nodded.

"All four feet?"

Another nod.

"Nice job, kiddo," Sirius said genuinely, leaning over and ruffling the boy's hair lightly.

"Thanks. Can I bring it down for you to check?"

"No, but after your bath I'll come _up_ to check it," Sirius offered, holding out his hand to help Harry stand.

But Harry remained seated, piercing Sirius with a pleading look. "But I've been really good. And this is my first time on the steps since you sent me up here."

"Yes, you have," Sirius agreed, leaning over and taking one of Harry's hands in his own, pulling up the limp, reluctant child. "And now you need to hop in the tub."

"It's only eight-thirty…"

Sirius glanced down at his wrist. "Hmm," he commented softly, "_my_ watch says it's bath time. Look…" He held out his wristwatch for Harry to see, but the boy only rolled his eyes.

"I need a clean towel," Harry said, inching up the steps sideways as he spoke to his godfather.

"I'll bring you one." Sirius followed closely behind.

"And I think all of my clean pajamas are—"

"Go," Sirius ordered, giving Harry a playful poke in the side.

"Hey!" Harry cried with a small laugh, hunching over.

"Go, go, _go_," Sirius continued as he trailed his godson up the stairs, emphasizing his command with two more pokes and a light swat to Harry's jeans-clad bottom.

"I'm going…"

* * *

Harry turned over on his side. It wasn't even ten o'clock yet, but he didn't care much. Doing homework always made him sleepy. His pillow was already damp and smelling like shampoo from his wet hair.

Harry's completed and corrected Potions essay lay in a neatly rolled scroll on top of his desk. His godfather had mostly checked for spelling errors and organization. Other than that, he'd deemed it a _fine essay_. Too bad Snape wouldn't share the same opinion…

"Hey, Sirius?"

"Mmmm?" the man replied, letting his godson know that he was listening.

"You reckon Ron's all right?" the boy wondered. Harry had been thinking about the misfortune of his friend while he soaked in the tub. From the look on Sirius's face when he'd returned from the Burrow, Harry could tell things hadn't gone very well.

"Oh, he'll be fine," Sirius assured him, folding the covers down and tucking them snuggly around Harry's middle. "Molly has quite the set of pipes, though, I'll tell you that…"

"I know," Harry agreed, fingering the edge of his pillowcase. "He was sort of worried that you'd see him punished."

"I didn't stay long." Sirius reached over and pulled Harry's glasses away from his nose. He folded them and set them delicately on the nightstand. "When she went fishing through a drawer and pulled out some odd-looking spatula, I took that as my cue…"

Harry wasn't sure whether to feel sympathetic or slightly amused. The thought of Mrs. Weasley waving around a cooking utensil was kind of funny. But Harry was sure that Ron wouldn't agree with him.

"He'll be all right," Sirius said again.

Harry didn't say anything. He figured his godfather was probably right. But still…

Sirius reached over and brushed away a couple water droplets that were trickling towards Harry's ear. "You really do need a haircut, Bub."

Smoothing down his fringe over his forehead, Harry noticed that it almost covered his eyebrows. "I think you're right," he said before yawning loudly.

"Are you up for a trip to Hogwarts next week?"

Harry perked up. "What for?" he asked excitedly.

"Just a few business matters," Sirius replied casually, "You've met the Minister, haven't you?

"Yeah…" Harry muttered, frowning a bit, "He's kind of a git, if you ask me…"

"Well this particular _git_ would like to see how you're getting along."

"I'm fine," Harry answered, feeling the defensiveness beginning to burn in his chest. "What does he care? He was on my case last August too when I stayed in Diagon Alley."

"It isn't a huge deal or anything, Bub, but you _do_ need to be polite to him when you meet him," Sirius said solemnly. He leaned over and dimmed the lantern.

The soft, warm light glowed on Harry's freshly scrubbed cheeks and forehead causing him to appear younger than thirteen.

"Do I have to go?" Harry asked in a small voice. He yawned again.

"Yes. But I'll be with you."

Harry pressed the side of his face more deeply into his pillow, breathing into the plush feathers.

"We'll talk more about it tomorrow, okay?" Sirius exclaimed, tightening the blankets once more.

"Okay."

The boy was fading fast.

"By the way, I know it's not fun staying up in your room all day, but thank you for obeying me," Sirius said softly, watching his godson's eyes flutter tiredly.

Harry nodded into his pillow.

Standing up, Sirius leaned over and pressed a rough kiss against Harry's temple.

"Night," he whispered.

And reaching over, Sirius turned down the lantern until the flame extinguished, watching as the fragrant wisps of smoke curled in waves towards the ceiling.

TBC...

* * *

First of all, thank you for all of the wonderful feedback for this story. I appreciate it all. Secondly, I have decided to stretch this story out for a while longer. And yes, that means I have been wracking my little pea-brain for some more plot...lol. But please, please, let me know if you feel this story begins to drag. I've got a bit more planned for it, but again, if this story starts to take a trip down Rubbish Alley, please tell me.

That said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! If you've got a free moment, please tell me what you thought!

Have a great week! (I have to sub tomorrow. Boo!)


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Okay, so I meant to have this chapter out a bit earlier, but I've been fighting some sort of odd head cold that's made me dizzy and really, really tired. I've read through this chapter several times for typos, but if you see any, please let me know and I'll fix them. And as always, thanks so much for all of your reviews and messages!**

"How come you don't just turn the earth by magic?" Harry asked his godfather without glancing up from the dirt.

Stifling gloves now discarded, Harry's hands were nearly wrist-deep in the cool, damp soil of the old flower bed that lay at the side of the house. They'd spent nearly two hours yanking out clumps of weeds and softening the dry dirt with the small gardening tools they'd found in the woodshed out back.

It had only been two days since Harry had been released from his grounding, and the moments where he wasn't scampering through the house, nipping at Sirius's heels, he would lie aimlessly on his belly on the living room floor, gazing longingly at the portion of the locked cupboard door that was visible from where he lay.

Nearly all of Harry's homework was finished the day before.

He and Sirius had played a dozen card games together.

And now, his godfather could tell that Harry was in need of some fresh air. This morning, he'd suggested that his godson go outside and play, but the boy had only shrugged, unsure of where he would go or what he would do. Finally, Sirius had mentioned the idea of fixing up the small garden, and Harry had agreed…as long as he didn't have to do it by himself.

A part of Sirius felt slightly guilty for sending Ron home early. However, Harry didn't seem to be bored or lonely…just quiet. Sirius told himself repeatedly that Harry was young, and at thirteen, he was changing every day. But if he knew his godson…

Harry sat back on his heels, brushing his hands off on the front of his jeans, smearing the material with black dirt. He gazed up at his godfather as he waited for a response.

"When I was young, my parents did everything by magic," Sirius explained, laying down his miniature shovel and sitting back on the grass so he could talk to Harry. "We also had a house elf that cleaned up after us all…it didn't do much for my work ethic at the time."

"Oh," Harry commented, scratching at his forehead, leaving several dark streaks along his sweaty skin.

Sirius smiled warmly as he glanced over his dirt-covered godson.

"But doesn't it take longer?" Harry asked, pulling out a few pieces of grass as he squinted against the sun.

Considering this, Sirius leaned over and rested an elbow on top of his drawn-up knee. "Yes, but sometimes it's more fun working to accomplish something. It's good to know how to do things both ways—muggle and magic—don't you think?"

Harry shrugged. Averting his gaze over to the empty flowerbed, he pressed his fingers into the soil and wiggled them around. "Maybe…"

"You did a really nice job clearing out this soil, Bub," Sirius said as he picked up his shovel again and stuck it vertically into the ground. "I'm glad you decided to help me."

"I kind of like gardening…"

"You do?" Sirius asked, tilting his head.

He scooted a bit closer to Harry. Reaching out, he brushed his knuckles against the smudges on the boy's forehead and left cheek a few times until the dirt had mostly vanished. Hands still in the soil, Harry simply turned his head, allowing Sirius to clean his face.

"Aunt Petunia made me pull weeds sometimes, thinking she was punishing me, but I actually didn't mind it…they left me alone when I did yard work," Harry told him.

Sirius froze. It felt as if all of the air had been sucked out of his lungs. "Left you alone…" he repeated softly.

Harry's teeth tugged at his bottom lip with vigor. "Well...you know…she was always fussing at me to get out of the way, but Dudley's second bedroom sort of smelled like dirty socks when it got hot in the summer, so I didn't like staying up there all day."

"So she made you pull weeds in the garden?"

"Yeah…sometimes," Harry replied, scratching at his cheek, smearing the pink skin with dirt once again. "But like I said, it wasn't that bad."

Pausing for only a few seconds long, Sirius nodded slowly before reaching out and gently removing the dirt from Harry's face for the second time. He gazed sadly at his restless, rumpled little teenager.

Harry smiled a bit, catching onto his godfather's sympathetic look almost immediately.

"It's all right, Sirius," he exclaimed, picking up his own discarded shovel and swiveling the pointed end against the dirt. "If I didn't want to help you garden, I would have just said something…you know I would have."

The man's eyes softened around the edges at Harry's words. "You've got that right, Bub…"

Harry smiled even wider.

They paused a minute—Harry twisting his shovel around with both hands now while Sirius watched him.

As much as he wanted to, Sirius couldn't stifle the thought of Harry hunching over a massive garden filled with unwanted weeds—maybe even the prickly kind that stung the skin. What if that pathetic lot hadn't even given his godson gloves? Brain skimming the dire possibilities, the man felt as if he had a nail lodged in his stomach. Exhaling meaningfully, Sirius smoothed back a wavy, wayward strand of hair.

He leaned over and tugged on the hem of the boy's short-sleeve.

"Go play."

Harry's head snapped up from the pile of dirt he was drilling into.

"No, I can help!" the boy spoke up quickly, raising up on his knees, shovel poised.

"I know you can," Sirius replied, taking the dusty garden tool from his godson's hand, "But I need to start lunch, and you need to burn up some energy before you come back in the house. We'll work on the garden another day."

"Why? I'm not hyper or anything…" the boy retorted with a small frown.

"That's not what I meant," Sirius clarified, pushing himself up from the grass. "I just think you should stay out here and get some exercise…it's nice out today."

Shaking the dirt off of his t-shirt, Harry stood up as well.

"Will you stay with me?"

"Give me fifteen minutes to get lunch ready, and after we eat, I'll come and play with you, all right?" Sirius offered, bending over to retrieve his upright shovel from the dirt. He reached around and pulled his wand from the waistband of his trousers as he straightened up.

With a flick of his wrist, Sirius expertly transfigured the shovel into a football.

Harry glanced at his godfather brightly.

"Let me see your hands," Sirius said as he tucked the round ball underneath his arm.

Holding out his soiled palms, Harry watched as Sirius gently tapped his fingertips with the end of his wand. A pleasant tickling sensation ran all the way up to his wrists, and immediately, the dirt disappeared.

"Brilliant," Harry whispered, flipping his hands over. Even his fingernails were clean.

"There's your magic for you," Sirius said, giving Harry a wink as he tossed him the ball. "Fifteen minutes, Bub…I'll call for you."

"Okay," Harry replied, jogging out into the grass. "Thanks, Sirius!" he shouted over his shoulder as he tossed the ball up into the air and gave it a hearty bump with his knee, sending it flying down the yard.

Sirius watched Harry kicking around the football for a moment longer, before shaking his head fondly and making his way back inside.

* * *

"Hold still," Sirius chided lightly, leaning over Harry's shoulder and blowing at the few tiny, stray hairs that had fallen onto his neck, tickling him so badly that he had goosebumps.

Harry groaned.

He hated getting his hair cut. Every time Aunt Petunia got after him with a pair of scissors, he ran like his trousers had caught fire.

At least this pair was charmed…

"Okay, it's short enough," Harry croaked desperately. His eyes were darting back and forth as he listened to the steady_ snip_ of the floating scissors. Harry gripped the sides of the wooden kitchen chair in order to keep moving.

"Are you honestly panicking this much over a haircut?" Sirius asked, fighting to keep the entertainment out of his voice. He crouched down to get a better look at the current length of his godson's dark, cropped hair.

Brushing aside Harry's fringe one last time, Sirius plucked the scissors out of midair.

Harry sighed in relief, wiggling around as he reached up and smoothed down his shortened hair.

Rolling his eyes, Sirius lunged for his wand that he'd set on the table next to his armchair and banished the messy clumps of fallen hair with a brisk wave.

"Better?" Sirius asked, turning around to face Remus who was lounging comfortably on the sofa with the latest Daily Prophet.

Remus glanced around page three to survey Harry's new haircut. "Much," he agreed with a nod.

Harry bit back a scowl.

"How come I have to dress up, Sirius?" the boy asked for the fifth time that weekend. He hauled his chair into the kitchen while he waited for his godfather's response.

"Because you're meeting the minister…and I didn't say you had to _dress up_, just look decent," Sirius explained as he took a seat in his usual armchair. Nursing a long sip of his lukewarm tea, he glanced over at Harry who now stood slumped against the living room doorway. "Why are you so worried about it, Bub?"

"I'm _not_ worried," Harry said defensively, scrunching the fringe from the living room rug up in his toes. He gazed down at his hands while he cracked his knuckles. "I just don't understand why it matters if he sees me in jeans or not…I was in this manky old zip-up jacket and trousers the first time I met him."

Sirius shifted his eyes over to Remus, but the man only turned a page of his newspaper, seemingly disengaged in the conversation.

"Hey," Sirius exclaimed gently, "Come in here and sit down."

Still fidgeting with his knuckles, Harry slowly sauntered into the living room.

"You were making me nervous…" the man joked.

But ignoring the ploy for humor, Harry only plunked down heavily onto the sofa, slouching as he settled into the cushions, earning a distinct _look_ from Remus as his bouncy movement jarred everything around him.

"Sorry…" Harry mumbled, lifting himself up a bit and tucking one foot underneath his thigh while the other one dangled.

A crinkle of the newspaper was the only response as Remus shook out his Daily Prophet and went back to reading.

"When most people meet with the Minister of Magic, they try to look as nice as possible," Sirius continued, "I remember when I was young, my parents made my brother and me wear these ugly traditional robes…"

"I am _not_ wearing those things, Sirius," Harry interrupted hastily, sitting up. "You're only allowed to wear your shorts underneath!"

Sirius choked into his teacup.

The newspaper crackled as Remus lowered it slowly. He stared at Harry, his eyebrows raised.

"What?" Harry exclaimed, looking between the two of them. "It's true. I've seen pictures."

"Are you out of your mind, Harry James?" Sirius asked, straining to keep from laughing.

"I'm not!" Harry insisted. "You should see what some of these blokes look like in my History of Magic book…"

"Bub…" Sirius replied, shaking his head, his eyes twinkling with amusement, "We're talking centuries ago."

Harry felt himself blush. He couldn't believe that the word _traditional_ had sent him into a frenzy. Sinking back into the cushions, Harry picked at a piece of lint that was stuck to his jeans.

"Oh…"

"By decent, I mean a nice pair of trousers and shirt, Harry," Sirius said gently. "We got you several sets of those at the beginning of the summer, remember?"

Harry shrugged. Sure, he remembered. But still, he couldn't stand dressing up. Putting on a nice pair of trousers at the Dursleys consisted of Harry tripping over his newest hand-me-downs from Dudley or constantly pulling on the seat of the hideous dark gray pair that Harry'd had since he was ten. But that wasn't all that was bothering Harry, and he knew it. He also knew that Sirius was keeping something from him…there had to be a reason that they were meeting with Fudge other than a simple check-up.

"What's the matter?" Sirius prodded suddenly, causing Harry to glance up at his godfather through his fringe.

Sirius was looking at him in that concerned way that always made Harry feel a bit guilty for shouting or being disrespectful. But at the moment, Harry didn't want to voice what he was really thinking.

Sighing, he barely shook his head.

"Nothing?"

"I _said_ no," Harry muttered, knocking his heel against the cushion.

Folding up his newspaper, Remus excused himself swiftly. Harry watched as he headed through the kitchen, probably into the parlor next to the stairs. Even before Harry turned back around, he was already regretting his tone of voice. There was no way that Sirius would let that go.

As he spun back around slowly, Harry chanced a glance at his godfather and inwardly cringed. Yes, that was definitely the look he'd been expecting.

"Whether or not something really is bothering you, Harry, you're not being very polite right now…" Sirius scolded quietly.

Harry's cheeks instantly buzzed with warmth.

"And I doubt that you want to spend the next twenty minutes in the corner cooling down, am I right?"

"Yes," Harry nearly whispered.

"Then do it now, please," Sirius continued, keeping his voice low.

"Sorry…"

Nodding in acceptance, Sirius eventually softened his resolve. "You've got to keep that temper in check, Bub."

"I know," Harry admitted, twisting a loose button on the arm of the sofa.

And with a gentle jerk of his head, Sirius silently summoned Harry over to where he sat.

Wordlessly, the boy obeyed the gesture.

Scooting to the edge of the armchair, Sirius snaked a hand between Harry's dangling arm and his waist, patting his godson's hip twice in a comforting, yet prompting manner. "What is it?" he asked.

Figuring that Sirius would inevitably worm it out of him, Harry sighed briskly through his nose and peered down into his godfather's kind eyes. "He's going to take me away from you, isn't he?"

Sirius paused. He could literally feel the astonishment wash over his face at Harry's words.

"Oh, Harry…"

"I saw it before on this muggle television show," Harry interrupted, his voice crackling, "That's how they do it…they give you a new home and then they take you away from it, Sirius—"

It took several painful swallows before Sirius found his voice again. "Oh, no, no, no," he soothed, pulling Harry close and leaning him against his knee. "No, Harry, that won't happen. I won't _let_ it happen."

"I saw it…"

"No, Bub," Sirius promised him, patting his hip rhythmically. "This is where you live. Dumbledore will see to it that everything's kept the way it is."

Desperate to give in to his godfather's calming reassurances, Harry leaned against the arm that encircled his waist.

"I don't like Fudge," Harry exclaimed, rolling his thumb up in the hem of his t-shirt. "He gives me a weird feeling…"

"Then here's what we'll do," Sirius replied firmly, "We'll meet with him; we'll be on our _best_ behavior; we'll be honest. And then when we get home, you can draw a picture of him and we'll throw darts at it. How does that sound?"

Harry smiled mirthfully, gazing at Sirius like as if _he_ were the one who'd presently lost his mind. It seemed as if his godfather always knew what to say to make him feel better.

"All right."

"All right, then," Sirius finalized, doling out one last pat. "You go pick out the outfit you like best for tomorrow, and then you can get your pencils ready."

"Can I ditch the jumper?" Harry asked, making a face, as he readied himself to spring off of Sirius's knee.

"Bub…it's summer…"

"Oh, yeah," Harry said with a snicker, as he made a dash for the kitchen. "Nevermind."

The smile lingered on Sirius's face as he listened to his godson pad speedily up the stairs. At least he'd kept Harry from worrying about Fudge and tomorrow's meeting, assuring him that nothing was going to happen. However his smile slowly began to fade when he realized that he was having a difficult time convincing himself.

Remus said nothing as he entered the living room once again. He grinned at Sirius, obviously amused at Harry's enthusiastic bolting up the staircase. Sirius simply twisted his teacup against the saucer, the scraping of porcelain abnormally loud in the small space, wishing deeply that he could return the smile without feeling as if his face were full of lead…

TBC...

* * *

So how's the story going? Is it still okay so far? (Eeeek!) The next chapter will include the visit to Hogwarts, so I hope you stay tuned! And thanks again for keeping my spirits up with all of your notes of encouragement! I hope you all are having a good weekend :) 


	18. Chapter 18

Harry tugged at the waistband of his new tan trousers and tried not to twist his wrists around in the cuffs of the gray-blue, button-down shirt he'd had on since ten o'clock this morning. His palms were damp and his restless fingers itched to worry at every stray thread or loose button they could discover.

The chicken soup that Sirius had made for lunch had smelled really good. But Harry had barely eaten anything. Waves of nervousness had been wracking his stomach all morning.

Lifting the jar of floo powder from the mantle, Harry held it against his chest, swirling the tip of his forefinger around in the grainy mess while he waited for Sirius to come downstairs. Less than a minute later, his godfather strolled briskly into the living room, greeting Harry with a satisfied grin.

"I knew you'd pick out that shirt," Sirius commented slyly. As he walked towards Harry, the man shook out his dark, velvet robes that he'd draped over his arm.

Harry glanced down at his dress shirt, stilling his finger in the floo powder for an instant.

"How'd you know I'd choose this one?" He gazed up at Sirius suspiciously.

But Sirius only shrugged, giving his godson a wink as he pushed his arms through the sleeves of his navy blue robes.

Suddenly, the man's eyes went wide when he noticed what Harry was dipping his fingers into. He moved forward quickly.

"Don't do that, Harry," Sirius admonished lightly. He held out his hand for the ceramic jar. "You'll get your clothes filthy."

Pulling an innocent face, Harry passed it over. "I wasn't trying to get dirty," he replied, curling his soiled fingers into a fist. He could feel the grit mixing with the sweat on his palm as he clenched his fingers. It took all the strength Harry had not to wipe his hand off on his trousers. That was definitely a bad habit he felt he'd never conquer.

"I know you weren't," Sirius said kindly, setting the pot full of powder on the floor before straightening up and tugging on the wrists of his robes to even out the shoulders.

Scratching mildly underneath the waistband of his trousers with his clean hand, Harry took a moment to survey Sirius's outfit, frowning as he got a good look at the robes his godfather was wearing.

"How come you're wearing those? I thought you said that we didn't have to…"

Sirius looked up, smiling a bit when he noticed Harry grimacing and scratching. He seemed to ignore the question. "Are your trousers making you itch?" he asked, walking over to Harry. Sirius crouched a bit, staring hard at the material. "They shouldn't…it's not wool or anything…"

Harry gazed down as well, silently slipping the tips of his fingers from his waistband. No, he didn't itch. He actually hadn't noticed that he'd been scratching so adamantly. These dress trousers were clean and soft and actually fit, unlike the rubbish he'd been forced to wear during his childhood. Those trousers could have very well been made of wool. They always left nasty, splotchy rashes on his legs and tummy that didn't even disappear in the bath.

Harry noticed Sirius looking at him. "Erm…no, I'm okay," he answered quickly, feeling like an awkward, fidgety five-year-old. "Sorry…"

Standing all the way up, Sirius reached over and brushed a small thread away from Harry's shoulder. "You don't have to apologize, Bub," he said quietly. He gave Harry one last smile and left it at that.

_Oh, no_… Harry thought, shifting his eyes towards the clock that hung on the wall. It was five minutes until two o'clock.

Harry's stomach did another somersault. And then it hit him.

He bit his lip.

"What?" Sirius asked, backing up and reaching for the jar of floo powder without taking his eyes off of Harry.

"I gotta go."

Sirius held the jar to his chest, giving Harry an odd look. "You have to _go_?... Oh!" He suddenly understood. Sirius glanced over at the clock in the same nervous way as Harry had only seconds earlier. "Can you wait? Our meeting is at two, and I doubt it'll take long."

Harry shook his head gravely and shifted his weight from foot to foot. He hadn't eaten much at lunch but was sorely regretting that second glass of pumpkin juice. As if Sirius needed further persuasion, Harry untucked his fingers and held up his grimy, sweaty hand.

"I need to wash too."

He unconsciously jiggled his kneecap as he stood.

"Well, all right, don't stand here and wet your shorts, just go," Sirius said hurriedly, gesturing behind him with a curt tilt of his head. He chuckled under his breath as Harry bolted past him through the kitchen toward the nearest loo.

Harry returned less than three minutes later.

Sirius was leaning with his back against the stone wall next to the fireplace while he waited.

"That was fast," he commented casually, raising his eyebrows as Harry half-jogged into the living room.

"I know…"

"Wait a second…did you wash your hands properly?" Sirius inquired, dropping one of his brows and cocking his head towards his godson.

"Well, yeah…" Harry replied as he slowed down, a bit insulted. He held up two pale-pink, spotless palms for Sirius to see. "I _told_ you I had to wash."

"You certainly did," Sirius said. He pointed towards Harry's stomach, indicating that one of his shirt tails was hanging out of the waistband.

Glancing down, Harry sighed as he grabbed the wrinkled edge and tucked it into his waistband quickly. His school shirt was always coming untucked too, but he never messed with it, considering that his robes always covered anything slovenly underneath. Harry tucked his hands into his pockets, scrunching up the silky material as he looked over at the clock one last time. They had a little over a minute to spare.

"You ready to go?" Sirius asked over his shoulder as he took a handful of floo powder from the recently returned jar.

"No…"

Sirius instantly perked up as he stared at Harry.

"But I'll go anyway," Harry joked with a choppy shrug and a smirk as he moved forward to stand beside Sirius.

Tossing in the floo powder, his godfather rolled his eyes as they both simultaneously jerked back from the eruption of warm, emerald flames.

"All right, Harry, go ahead," Sirius instructed softly with a nod toward the fireplace.

Harry started to feel nervous again. He wasn't exactly sure why, but the idea of meeting the minister…again…just had his stomach in knots. He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand as he continued to gape at the translucent, green blaze.

"Should we go together?" Sirius offered, giving Harry a quick but comforting scratch between his shoulders.

Harry began gnawing on his bottom lip, feeling childish. But he nodded anyway.

"Okay, then, here we go," Sirius replied simply, keeping his hand on Harry's back as they stepped into the floo.

Sirius brushed back his dark, wavy hair as they got into position, appearing as if the solution of double-floo'ing were the most natural in the world.

And Harry loved him for it.

* * *

The sight of the neon-orange, pin-striped trousers that were plastered on the Minister had been more than enough to cause Harry to laugh in the man's rosy face.

Thank goodness he hadn't.

Sirius hadn't warned him of anything specific before they had left, but Harry had a feeling that he was expected to keep his behavior under control during today's meeting. He and the living room corner had only become acquainted twice, and Harry wanted to keep it that way. But more importantly, he wanted to keep Sirius.

And Harry knew—he just_ knew_—that Fudge would be scrutinizing both of them under a microscope. His godfather had explained bits and pieces of the meeting's vitality to him over lunch. Although Harry had nearly forgotten that Sirius had just spent twelve years in Azkaban, everyone else most likely hadn't. Including the Minister of Magic.

The conversation in Dumbledore's office had grown boring.

Slumping in one of the armchairs across from the headmaster's desk, Harry stared at his own brown, leather lace-ups. His bottom was going numb from sitting still for so long, but shifting around only brought unwanted attention to himself, so Harry simply sat back and dealt with it.

At first, Harry had answered politely, throwing forth as many _yes, sirs_ as needed. But when Fudge had averted the interrogation to Sirius only, Harry had allowed his mind to drift—the rumbling conversation in the background making him a bit drowsy.

Every so often, Sirius would nudge him gently, and Harry would snap out of his dream-like stupor long enough to answer another question.

Kind of like now…

"Huh?" Harry asked after a particularly sharp nudge. He sat up and glanced around, gripping the arm rests to keep himself planted in spite of the thousands of needles that had suddenly begun jabbing him in waves across his rear.

"Your outing with Remus Lupin…" Fudge repeated, his red cheeks jiggling as he punctuated his statement with a brisk nod. "It went well?"

Harry immediately glanced over at Sirius. To his dismay, the man was pressing his lips together in a thin line. However, his chocolate eyes had locked with Harry's, and the boy tried desperately to understand what he was conveying behind the glittering darkness.

"Yeah…erm…we went, er…" Harry stammered, glancing back and forth from Sirius to Fudge, "…me and Ron—I mean—Ron and I went with Professor Lupin to Diagon Alley."

God, he sounded stupid. His face flamed as if he was standing in front of a heater.

"Yes, my dear boy," Fudge commented with a chuckle. He took a merry sip of his tea. "I am quite aware of where you traveled."

"How?" Harry wondered outloud, feeling his face crumple in irritation. He was trying so hard to keep the malice out of his tone, but it was difficult.

He expected another poke below his ribs from his godfather. But it didn't come. Harry turned his head toward Sirius again, but the man was sitting quietly, his knuckles resting against his lips as he stared at the headmaster.

"Oh, no matter…no matter," Fudge mumbled, obviously catching a glimpse of the direction of Sirius's eyes. The minister, as well, glanced over at Dumbledore who was perched quite placidly in his own arm chair.

"However…" Fudge continued, straightening his back and sobering his mirthful expression, "I hear that was not the _only_ Alley you ventured off to. Am I wrong?" Fudge swiveled his head adamantly between all three attendees.

Harry's stomach melted, burning like lava. His heart began to thrum with vigor. "I don't…How did you—"

"I'm the Minister, child," Fudge cooed in a mock-soothing voice that made Harry want to sick up. "I am _always_ aware of the goings on in the life of The Boy Who Lived."

"He has a name," Sirius interrupted firmly, although his voice remained a bit muffled behind his knuckles.

Dumbledore's eyes no longer held their twinkle. Nevertheless, his upper body remained relaxed—his features calm.

Sirius removed his hand from his mouth, running his fingers through his hair swiftly before leaning his forearm against the leather-covered armrest. He glared at Fudge, whose Adam's apple was bobbing at an impressive pace, as if he were preparing to splutter a mantra of obscenities.

But the Minister remained silent.

Sirius, however, did not.

"The situation was dealt with," Sirius said, his voice had grown in volume but the words were steady. "It's not really the Ministry's concern…" Sirius frowned, "…at least I don't think it is."

Harry held his breath, digging his fingernails into the leather. He knew the stale atmosphere of the meeting was too good to be true.

_Please just drop it_, _you stupid wanker_, Harry thought desperately, pinning the minister with an icy look. And then another thought sizzled through Harry's brain and spread the burning heat all throughout his body: _Oh, god, Sirius, don't tell him I got grounded and spanked for it… _At the moment, Harry wasn't sure which was worse.

He felt trapped—tangled in a messy web of embarrassment and shock. How had Fudge found out about Knockturn Alley? Who had seen them there?

And then a sickening possibility buzzed through Harry's head.

_Was it Snape?_

"I believe the safety of Mr. Potter to be the very top priority of the Ministry, _Mr._ Black," Fudge spat in a menacing tone, cutting through Harry's thoughts. "You, however, do _not_ seem to care one way or another…allowing a child to wander around in Knockturn Alley where he could easily be—"

"Cornelius, please…" Dumbledore interrupted, gazing sadly at Harry.

Sirius was poised, ready to spring into action if needed.

"Don't seem to _care_?" Sirius sputtered, his eyes dark. "I'd give my _life_ for my godson!"

"…And undoubtedly take a few others along the way…" Fudge added, his face smudged with satisfaction.

Harry felt as if he were going to combust. He couldn't take it any more. How had this happened? How had the meeting suddenly spun out of control?

"It's _my_ fault, sir," the boy croaked desperately, moving to the edge of his seat. "Me and Ron were supposed to stay close by and we didn't…Sirius wasn't even with us. You know he wasn't."

"_Precisely _the problem," the man interjected, spittle flying.

"Enough."

At the single utterance, all three men paused and glanced toward the headmaster, who was sloshing around the remaining liquid in his cup, smiling lightly at the whirlwind of peppermint tea leaves. "I seem to have reached the bottom. Would you care for another spot, Minister? Sirius?"

Harry felt desperately frustrated—the hot tears clawing at his sinuses. He'd been so worried about losing Sirius, and if it ended up happening over something as bloody ridiculous as Knockturn Alley, it truly would be his fault.

He reached over and tugged on the sleeve of Sirius's robes, ignoring the small, sudden banter taking place between the Minister and Dumbledore. Sirius snapped his head toward Harry when he felt the tugging pressure.

"Can we go home, Sirius?" Harry whispered, pushing down the emotion that threatened to climb up throat. "I want to go home."

Sirius looked his godson over with pained eyes. Saying nothing, he simply leaned over and smoothed Harry's shortened fringe all the way back. Landing at the boy's neck, he gave it a gentle squeeze.

"_Soon,_" Sirius mouthed, giving Harry a reassuring nod.

But Harry didn't believe him. And it was obvious that the Minister of Magic didn't believe that Sirius was innocent. How could he make a comment about Sirius 'taking a few lives with him' if he believed that?

Not really knowing what he was doing, Harry stood up, running his own hand through his hair. He breathed shallowly. The air felt warm in his lungs—similar to the way it felt just before he passed out a couple of weeks prior. But there was no way he'd give Fudge the pleasure of seeing him faint in the middle of Dumbledore's office.

Suddenly, he felt Sirius squeeze his impossibly sweaty hand. His godfather looked at him strangely. "Sit down, Bub," he breathed.

Harry pulled away. "No…" He shook his head. "No, I can't. I'm done…"

"Harry, dear boy…" Fudge began in that same, syrupy tone that made Harry's stomach heave. The man shifted in his seat.

However, Harry only shook his head again and continued backing up toward the door. The neon orange stripes on Fudge's trousers were blinding. They made him nauseous.

Sirius was on his feet now, moving forward quickly.

Tactless and stretched to the breaking point, Harry reached the door and yanked it open before anyone could touch him. He had to get out of there.

When he entered the corridor, the cool air washed over Harry like water, calming his stomach but causing his head to pulse painfully.

It was all his fault.

No…it was all _Snape's_ fault.

The familiar rage began to erupt deep within the boy. He didn't care if the git had once been Remus's friend. He didn't care if he made Remus the sodding Wolfsbane potion. Snape still hated Sirius. And he hated Harry. He had nothing against obliterating their happiness.

Sirius caught him around the waist before he could make any sudden moves.

"No!" Harry twisted and wriggled against the muscled arms. "No, Sirius, please!"

"Okay," Sirius soothed, whispering in his ear and holding him tightly, "It's okay…You're okay."

"No, I'm not…" Harry blurted out. "I _knew_ this would happen!"

"Nothing's happened…"

But with a few more flailing wiggles, Harry was able to free himself from Sirius's hold. He bolted down the corridor, ignoring his godfather's shouts. He knew Sirius would follow him. He knew Dumbledore and Fudge were standing against the door frame staring at him.

But they didn't know where he was headed.

And if Harry somehow ran into the potions master, the bastard certainly wouldn't know what hit him.

TBC...

* * *

Man...you guys and your reviews... They make my darn day...that's for sure :) So...what do you think of this one? I had the day off today and spent the afternoon writing, because I felt it had been a few days too many since this one had been updated. I'm trying my hardest to fight the fatigue :) Anyone else have the Winter Blah's? Like me?

By the way, I've rewritten parts of Chapter 1 and have reposted it, so if you have a free moment, check it out and let me know if you like it better than the original. I felt that bits and pieces weren't realistic enough, so I changed them. The punishment scene is a bit different as well.

As always, thanks so much for your encouragement!


	19. Chapter 19

Harry had no idea what he was doing.

The echo of his godfather's voice was tugging at his common sense like a magnet, but he was already nearing the dungeons. And if Harry turned back now, he knew that Fudge and the Ministry would rip him away from Sirius.

As Harry barreled down the stairs, the thin, yet dull end of his wand dug into his hip repeatedly, slowly inching its way out of his waistband. Unable to stand it any longer, he halted for a brief moment. Yanking his shirt hastily out of his trousers, Harry rescued his wand before it went barreling south.

He wasn't exactly sure why he'd brought it along. Harry knew very well he wasn't allowed to perform magic over the summer. At home, he kept it safely tucked away in the drawer of his beside table. But the thought of roaming around Hogwarts without his wand while Fudge was about made Harry uneasy. Of course, he depended on Sirius to keep _him_ safe, but who would be there to keep Sirius from harm if the Minister would have suddenly gone crazy on them?

Ignoring his flailing shirt tail, Harry continued descending…until a firm tug on the back of his shirt sent him stumbling backwards.

Sirius caught him in a single, swift movement—his arm stretched across Harry's heaving chest.

The holly wand clattered noisily on the stairs and rolled patiently down the corridor when it landed at the bottom.

Harry watched his slender wand grow even smaller as it clinked against the uneven stone. After a few seconds, he pushed against the arm that encircled him.

"Hey, hey…" Sirius murmured calmly through his own dense breathing, "Now that's _enough_."

"My wand…"

"We'll get it in a minute," Sirius said, hoisting a struggling Harry up in his arm to steady him on the thin step.

Harry placed a clammy hand on Sirius's fingers in order to pry them away.

"_No_…" Sirius exclaimed as he effortlessly took hold of the small hand and pushed it down. "You're not going anywhere. You need to _stop_ this."

"I _hate _him…" Harry growled, his shoulders wiggling in a fruitless battle against his godfather's strength.

"I know…" Sirius murmured, sustaining his calm front. "I know you do. Fudge isn't my favorite person either…"

"_No…_"

"No? What do you mean '_no_'?" Sirius spoke over the boy's shoulder. But Harry's temper was still heated, and extracting a coherent sentence from his godson was relatively worthless at the moment. "All right, Harry, that's enough, I said."

Harry continued to squirm.

"_Stop_ it."

"_Sirius_…" Harry croaked, lingering over the syllables in a thick whine.

"Enough!" Sirius said sternly, emphasizing his order with a quick, solid smack to the fidgety rear end in front of him.

Harry instantly stiffened up at the unanticipated sting. And after a few seconds, the boy sagged against his godfather. His feverish irritability receded quickly as the shame and helplessness of the brief chastisement flooded through his veins. Harry could feel his heart thudding lustily against Sirius's forearm.

"You have _got_ to calm down," Sirius asserted more tenderly. After a moment, he loosened his hold slightly but kept his hand on the boy's shoulder, guiding Harry down beside him to sit on the nearest step. His face flooded with relief when he felt his godson obeying the pressure, crouching heavily beside him. They landed in a simultaneous _plop_.

"Better?"

Harry exhaled heavily, scratching at the itchy sweat that had formed underneath his fringe.

Sirius matched his godson's sigh with one of his own. "You know better than to act like this, Harry James," he chided. "Losing your temper gets you nothing but a smarting arse and a massive headache. Look at those flushed cheeks…" He placed his cool knuckles gently against the warm, ruddy skin. "One of these days, you're going to make yourself sick, you know that?"

Harry didn't say anything. Instead, he buried his face in his hands, pressing his fingertips hard against his closed eyes and wishing desperately that he could float away among the darkness and stars that were bursting behind his lids.

After a while, Sirius placed a hand on the top of Harry's smooth hair, jostling the boy's head a bit in a playful manner.

"I hate this, Sirius…" Harry finally mumbled through his fingers. "I hate it."

"Oh, come on now," his godfather soothed, removing his hand and scratching light, comforting patterns down Harry's shoulder. "There's no reason to get all worked up, Bub. No one has said _anything_ about taking you from me, have they?"

Harry lowered his elbows to rest wearily against his knees.

"Have they?" Sirius repeated. He gave Harry a tender poke dangerously close to his underarm to help him out of his downhearted slump.

Harry hunched his shoulder up to his neck at the tickle, slowly turning his head so that he was facing Sirius. He carelessly cupped his left cheek in his hand, unaware of the soft, cherubic appearance of his face. The visible one was lightly pink with lingering imprints of his fingers.

Sirius smiled lightly, his eyes tender.

But Harry felt like his own smile was trapped. Right now, it was impossible to return it.

He could tell that Sirius really wanted him to cheer up. The melancholy glint in his godfather's eyes was painful to witness. But Harry's mouth felt as if it was glued in place.

He gazed over at the man, hoping he appeared as apologetic as he felt. "It was Snape, Sirius," Harry said sadly. "He told…"

"Oh, Bub, you don't know that…"

"Who else would've done it?" Harry exclaimed weakly, sitting up but still drooping with his elbows resting against his knees. "Snape hates me…you know he does. He'd do anything to make me miserable."

Harry stared at his wrinkled and mildly smudged trousers. Funny, only an hour ago, keeping clean had seemed top priority. But none of that particularly mattered now.

Fudge hated Sirius. Snape hated Harry. And Dumbledore was probably disappointed in both of them for running out of his office like that. Harry had never felt so helpless.

"Was that why you ran out?" Sirius prodded casually. "Were you angry?"

Harry shrugged. "Kind of…But mostly I just wanted to get out of there because I felt like I was going to sick up or scream or something… It was like last summer when I blew up Aunt Marge. And I figured you would've killed me if I did that to Fudge…"

"I wouldn't have _killed_ you..." Sirius replied immediately. And then as if an epiphany had leapt forward and struck him over the head, the man frowned. "You blew up your _aunt?_"

"I didn't mean to…"

Sirius gawked at him.

Suddenly, Harry heard the hollow clacking of slow, deliberate footsteps nearby.

He snapped his head up, severely startled. The contents of his stomach felt like they'd just seeped through his toes. He sensed Sirius inching towards him.

Snape's dark form barely materialized out of the dimness of the dungeon corridor. As he sauntered forward, he held Harry's wand as if he were holding a dead rat by its tail. Snape's usual smirk of condescendence was splattered about his face.

"Lose something, Potter?"

Harry gripped the stone edge of the steps with both hands, hardly noticing that his godfather had tightened his knuckles around a fistful of the back of his shirt.

"Yeah…give it to me," Harry demanded with a frown as he stared down at the professor, attempting not to sound as shaken as he felt. If he would have run into Snape five minutes ago, Harry was almost sure he would have head-butted Snape right in the stomach or something equally as drastic. Now, he just felt drained and aggravated.

"_Shhh_…" Sirius shushed him quietly, "You sit right here, and don't move. I'll get your wand."

"That's it?" Harry whispered hoarsely. "You're just going to get my wand and walk away from him?"

Sirius held up a silencing finger, gazing at the boy with a decisive look. "Do as I say, please," he said, the barely audible words slithering through his lips as he released Harry's shirt and stood slowly.

Harry obeyed but allowed all of his spiteful thoughts to spill out of his darkening glare rather than his mouth. He stretched a leg out on the steps, keeping the other one tucked up as he rested his arm across his knee in a lazy, yet disgusted manner.

"I'll have that, Severus," Sirius stated casually, moving forward with an outstretched hand.

Snape sniffed in distain as he twisted the thinner end of the holly wand between a thumb and forefinger. "Taught the boy well, I see, Black," the professor sneered. "Not only has he retained his father's arrogance, but I believe he has acquired yours as well."

"Good…" Harry shot back from the stairs. "At least I'm not a bloody—"

A sharp snap of Sirius's fingers quieted the boy immediately.

"Watch yourself, Potter," Snape added in a perilously hushed voice.

"Just give me his wand," Sirius demanded, his patience draining quickly. He kept his left hand extended toward his godson, his fingers frozen in a loose snap, while he reached out for Harry's wand with his right.

Smirking, Severus lazily flipped the thin piece of wood forward, holding it close to Sirius's fingertips. The man raised an eyebrow in a bit of a taunting manner as he waited for Sirius to pluck it from his hand.

Wordlessly, Sirius grasped the end, slipping it from Snape's fingertips. He dismissed the situation with a jerk of his head, sweeping his dark hair out of his face as he turned and walked back toward Harry, who was observing the scene in front of him with alert eyes.

His godfather seemed lost in a world of thought that Harry couldn't penetrate. He gazed unseeing at the stairs as he moved forward. Even though his face was unreadable, Sirius offered a hand to Harry to help him stand when he reached the boy's step.

But the boy hesitated, staring hard at the potions master for a moment. Snape's eyes were piercing and unmoving as he glared at Sirius's back, but there was something hollow behind the blackness. And it made Harry feel curious and oddly sympathetic at the same time.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Harry suddenly exclaimed, feeling the muscles in his legs instantly soften into rubber. His squirming stomach was begging him to shut his mouth, but he'd gone all the way down to the dungeons, and he wasn't going to leave without saying what needed to be said. Harry was sick of this.

Sirius glanced down at him. "Me?" He let his arm droop languidly to his side.

Snape was staring at Harry, tilting his head in an inquisitive manner.

"Why do you hate me so much?" Harry pressed on, ignoring his godfather's ploy for clarification. "And why can't you just leave us alone? Knockturn Alley had nothing to do with Sirius, and not that it's any of your business, but me and Ron didn't just get away with that… You didn't have to go and tell Fudge."

"Harry…"

"No, Sirius..." Harry glanced up at his godfather. "I want to know." He looked back over at Snape.

The man was standing stock-still with deeply furrowed brows. His lids were peculiarly thin—his lips pursed defensively.

"What the hell are you blabbering on about, Potter?" the man growled in a sandy voice that betrayed his attempt at apathy.

"You know… And I'm not going back to the Dursleys, so you and Fudge can—"

"Harry James, that's _enough_," Sirius breathed for the countless time that afternoon. He crouched down, pegging the boy with a decisive _look_. "Leave it."

"I'm _not_ going back, Sirius," Harry croaked, nibbling on his wobbly bottom lip. "I'll run away…I don't care."

"Who said anything about you returning to your aunt and uncle, Potter?" Snape demanded.

"No one," Sirius answered for him. "And you know that, Harry."

"Fudge would love it if I did…" Harry insisted.

Sirius tried to shush him again, but the boy was adamant.

"You've had your meeting with the Minister, I take it?" Snape stipulated firmly.

"Er…"

"Well, out with it, boy!"

"Don't talk to him that," Sirius snarled in annoyance, spinning around on his toes to glower at the professor.

"It's sort of still going on…maybe…" Harry replied quietly. "Why do _you_ care?"

Without so much as a scowl, Severus swept forward, his robes floating about his ankles as he ascended the stairs.

Both Sirius and Harry watched the potions master dash swiftly out of sight before glancing back down at each other in perplexity.

"Where's he going?" Harry wondered outloud, his eyes flitting feverishly over his godfather's face as he searched for confirmation.

Sirius gripped Harry gently by the elbows. "I don't know, Bub… But Merlin's pants, you and that _mouth_…"

"I'm sorry…"

"Oh, you are _not_," Sirius cried out, his expression creased with exasperation but his eyes soaked in amusement.

Harry thought about this for a second.

"Okay, maybe not…but Sirius…where do you think Snape—"

"We'd better get back upstairs," Sirius said shortly. "Come on…" He took a hold of Harry's hand without waiting for his compliance this time. "Up you go."

His godfather hoisted him up effortlessly. He handed Harry his wand.

"Keep it under control this time, can you do that for me?" Sirius questioned importantly as he watched Harry brush his hands together to rid them of the grit and speedily tuck in his shirt after he replaced his wand securely in his waistband.

"I will…"

"Don't blow him up."

"I _won't_, Sirius," Harry promised, suddenly straining to keep a straight face.

"All right, come on." His godfather gestured once with his head, and without question, Harry hurried to follow.

TBC...

* * *

Yes, I know that was short (facepalms) but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! The next chapter will begin from Snape's perspective. So be prepared for a bit of a shift.

And thanks for your reviews! Because of you, I keep on truckin'. (I've allowed myself one cheesy phrase per day, and it looks like I've just cashed in...lol)

Have a terrific rest of the week, everyone! I'll try to get the next chapter out over the weekend, along with the new chapter of Emerald Eyes if you're following that story as well. Thanks again!


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Keep in mind that Snape's thoughts will not necessarily correlate with his spoken words and actions. He is Snape, after all. lol. I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

Cornelius Fudge was, without a doubt, one of the most absurd idiots Severus had ever met.

The man had literally sent up a red flag of panic at the news of Potter's sudden disappearance from his muggle neighborhood last summer, only to brush off the chaos like a pestering fly when the boy was found, as if there had been no reason to worry in the first place. He'd even agreed to allow the thirteen-year-old to stay in Diagon Alley for three weeks after that. By himself.

Yet, according to Potter, Fudge seemed to frown at the idea of having an acquitted Sirius Black as a guardian, as if letting the child wander among strangers and nearby dark wizards seemed the safer option.

Fudge was nothing but a self-contradicting, downright imbecile….

Severus detested Sirius Black. He knew he always would.

But he had to admit that the Mutt's stern, quiet rebukes on the dungeon stairs with Potter had been rather surprising. And the boy had actually listened to the coddling murmur. It was the first time Severus had witnessed Potter obeying without question.

Aside from that, The Golden Boy had actually looked presentable for once in his life, unlike his shabby, unkempt appearance after returning from a summer spent in Surrey.

When questioned over half a decade ago, Severus had deemed the Dursley household a mediocre establishment.

The single time Severus had been asked to "check up" on Potter during his twelve-year stay with the muggles after a particularly flamboyant bout of accidental magic, everything beyond the doors and windows at Number Four, Privet Drive appeared quite normal:

The disgusting lump of a child that the Dursleys called their _son_ sat slumped and glassy-eyed in front of the telly while an eight-year-old Potter mostly played in the backyard, digging into the dirt, virtually destroying the grass by the fence with a small shovel. His play clothes hung loosely on his slight frame, but Severus stayed around long enough to make sure the boy was given meals. As expected, he was. He had quarreled with his uncle at dinner, due to the child's incorrigible cheek, no doubt. And Petunia wielded a flyswatter with quick precision, sending Potter scurrying into the next room. The boy's sense of discipline and respect was despicable.

But in Severus's opinion, Potter's home environment had been sufficient—quite the average picture of a dull, unintelligible family of muggles.

The flying car…the reports of magic at Privet Drive…the blown-up muggle woman…a runaway Potter…

The absence of all of _that_ this summer had been almost refreshing, Severus loathingly admitted to only himself.

Knockturn Alley aside—nothing else catastrophic had occurred that hadn't been handled by the Mutt.

And after what Severus had recently witnessed from a dark corner of the corridor, he found himself quite believing that Potter and Weasley simply hadn't 'gotten away' with their trek to the poisonous plant shop, disgusting as it was to realize.

Not more than five minutes ago during one of Potter's tantrums, if Severus heard correctly, the unmistakable _splat_ of a firm hand against a trouser-seat had rebounded off of the corridor walls.

That had been the most shocking of all.

Sirius Black…doling out a smack. Who would have bloody thought?

And now, Potter believed he was in danger of being taken away from his the man over last week's incident in Knockturn Alley?

True, the boy was _the_ original dunderhead, but something about the proclamation seemed…off. Why had Potter believed Severus to have reported such a thing? How had Fudge discovered it? Borgin? Perhaps a double-dealing weakling such as Lucius Malfoy… Regardless, the source wasn't necessarily as important as the Minister's existing intent.

And as long as the Potter brat remained corralled and out of his way for the rest of the summer, the potions master was more than content to insure that his guardianship was sustained.

Severus swooped briskly around the corner of the corridor, retrieving his wand from the pocket of his robes as he neared the headmaster's chambers. If Albus was indeed still in his office, a password would not be required—only a distinct wave from Severus's wand aimed at the heavy door.

The latch instantly clicked and swung open, leaving the repulsive gargoyle frozen mid-sneer.

Wordlessly, Severus strolled through the entrance. The door to Albus's office was halfway ajar, and the wobbly, tight voice of Cornelius Fudge was the first that greeted the man's ears as he stood behind the threshold.

"—still do not understand why the boy would..." Fudge trailed off.

Albus raised his brows over his half-moon spectacles when he noticed the potions master perched in the doorway.

"Hello, Severus," Dumbledore crooned, his aged voice resonating from the rim the small teacup he held near his lips.

Albus sipped his tea gracefully.

Hooking his thumbs into his vest pockets, Fudge cleared his throat, the loose skin around his cheeks quivering. The Minister pursed his lips as he rocked back on his heels in the most uncomfortable manner. His eyes darted between the professor and headmaster.

Severus grimaced. Fudge's trousers were undeniably hideous.

"In regard to the Potter boy, I believe a discussion is in order, Albus. Minister…" Severus vocally mused, the disgust still playing about his features as he perused the nauseating robes.

"There is nothing—"

"I believe…" Dumbledore interrupted, cutting Cornelius short in his own delicate way, "I believe that perhaps you are right, Severus."

* * *

Harry froze in front of the partly open entrance to Dumbledore's chambers. He grabbed a handful of his godfather's velvet sleeve to pull him back a bit. 

Sirius glanced around, perplexed. "What is it?" he asked softly.

"Why is the door open?" Harry countered his godfather's question with one of his own. He stared at the small crack between the stones.

"We went out this way, Harry," Sirius explained, gazing strangely at his godson's crumpled brow. "Don't you remember?"

Harry shook his head in somewhat of an impatient gesture. "No, I know we did, Sirius. That's not what I'm saying…"

Sirius frowned thoughtfully as he leaned forward and scrutinized the open doorway.

As he did this, Harry stretched out his arm in front of Sirius's stomach as if to barricade him from moving forward.

"Well…" his godfather drawled after a moment, staring down at the small arm in amusement, "What _are_ you saying then?"

The man reached over and smoothed his thumb along the deep wrinkles above the rims of Harry's glasses.

Harry glanced over, pinning Sirius with an odd look. He dropped his arm slowly. "What are you doing?"

Sirius dragged his thumb towards the boy's hairline, causing his lids to open widely over the green eyes and his nose to perk up. "Your face is going to stick this way if you don't stop worrying. You're too young for wrinkles," he said with an air of playful importance.

Weakly tilting his head away from the ironing thumb, Harry rolled his eyes. "Come on, Sirius," he pleaded. "I'm trying to use my judgment…"

"Well that's good—"

"I mean…" Harry began quietly, gesturing toward the entrance, "the door usually closes on its own. What if Fudge went mental in there and chased Dumbledore down the corridor?"

Sirius stared at him. "You're stalling again…"

"I _am_ not!" Harry insisted.

Suddenly the gargoyle emitted a ferocious growl. Sirius stilled—his mouth open in mid-retort. They both gawked at the ugly creature.

"Severus Snape has opened the entrance with a charm, you fools!"

"Oh, no way, Sirius," Harry replied immediately, shaking his head and backing up. "There's no way in hell I'm going in there…"

Sirius caught the boy securely by his wrist before he scampered away. "There's no reason to be frightened…"

Harry opened his mouth, scowling indignantly. "I'm not _scared_, Sirius!" he breathed meaningfully. "But I can hardly look at Snape without wanting to claw his eyes out, and with the stupid Minister still there… You'll belt me for sure."

"Belt you? Harry—stop being silly," Sirius whispered hoarsely, tugging on his hand to prompt him forward. He held tightly to the icy fingers, considering the clammy appendages a bolder indication of his Harry's distress. "I'm right here with you."

The boy inched forward, groaning with his head thrown back. "I'm gonna lose it."

"You aren't," Sirius said firmly. "Now, come on, you nutter, we need to go back to our meeting. This is important."

"This is rubbish…"

But Harry pulled the door open a bit wider and slipped through anyway.

* * *

Sirius knocked calmly, but Harry knew by the way his godfather pressed his lips together that a whirlwind had probably taken residence inside the man's stomach. 

Harry leaned over as if to press his ear against the door, but Sirius caught the side of his head in a cupped hand and pushed him back gently.

Sighing, Harry plunged his hands into his pockets while they waited.

"Come in, Sirius." Dumbledore's voice seemed to penetrate through the dense wood.

"How does he know?" Harry whispered.

Sirius shrugged before reaching out toward the handle and letting himself in.

Dumbledore smiled serenely at the pair from behind his desk, his bony fingers steepled in a subtle, yet regal manner.

Harry glanced around. His insides began to spiral with pleasant tingles. The office was empty.

He shifted his gaze towards his godfather, who was staring at the headmaster in confusion. Harry couldn't tell if Sirius thought the absence of Fudge was a good or bad thing. He, of course, was beyond relieved, even if the situation was rather strange. Had the Minister and Snape gone through the floo somewhere?

"I am most delighted that you and Harry decided to return, my boy," Dumbledore exclaimed, tipping his head in a precise, slow nod. "Do have a seat."

Sirius placed a flattened palm against the back of a chair, slumping in an inquisitive manner.

Harry, however, couldn't contain himself any longer. "So where's Snape? The gargoyle said he—"

"Please have a seat, Harry," Dumbledore repeated, lacing his fingers together and resting them gently on the desktop.

A brief nod from his godfather solidified the headmaster's request, and Harry, along with Sirius, obeyed. They lowered themselves delicately in the neighboring armchairs as if their joints were rusted.

"What is this about, Albus?" Sirius finally spoke up, tossing his hair aside and leaning his chin against a propped-up fist. "What's happened?"

"Yeah…" Harry added.

Sirius reached over and touched two fingers to Harry's lips. Taking the hint, Harry slumped in his chair sourly and rested his head against a corner of the backrest.

_Fine_, he thought, _I can play the part…_

Beaming in a rather giddy way, Dumbledore slid forward an inked piece of parchment until the curled corners floated over the edge of the desktop.

Temporarily abandoning his adolescent huff, Harry and Sirius bent forward concurrently and raked their eyes over the tiny, curled scrawl. His rear nearly sliding off of the leather seat, Harry grabbed a hold of the arms and hauled his chair forward to get a closer look.

"Certified Guardian Transfer Form…" Harry read, and then his eyes immediately focused in on the sharp signature at the bottom. "Snape?" His head began to swirl and the blackness of the ink began to waver among the stark-white parchment. "He can't!" Harry croaked, feeling his body break out into an arctic sweat. "I don't—"

"No, Bub…_look_," Sirius said quickly, holding onto the back of his godson's neck and pointing underneath the signature with his other hand. "You've got to read things before you panic."

"I'm not…" Harry breathed, suddenly feeling dizzy, "…panicking."

"Indeed, Harry," the headmaster exclaimed gently, "Professor Snape has signed the document as third-party verification. Nothing else."

Harry was lost.

Sirius was pressing a hand to his own forehead. Obviously, his godfather was lost too.

"But what is this, Albus? I don't understand," Sirius said, shaking his head as he perused the legal form.

"The Minister arrived at Hogwarts today with several goals in mind," Dumbledore began, straightening his expression as he plunged into his significant explanation. "However, he seemed to procrastinate with the most crucial one until the last possible second."

"What crucial one?" Harry wondered outloud, gripping the arms of the chair with sweat-plastered hands. Sirius didn't bother quieting him anymore. Instead, he reached over and stroked his thumb along his godson's small, splotchy hand.

"Relax, Bub," Sirius said quietly, though the slight tremor in his own voice betrayed his false state of calm.

Harry took a deep breath. The air in the office tasted like dusty books all of a sudden.

"Yes, what crucial goal?" Sirius repeated.

Albus smiled softly. "The issue of becoming Harry's permanent guardian, Sirius."

"But…" Harry stammered, "I though he already was my guardian."

"On my recommendation," Dumbledore clarified. "However, even in the wizarding world, the permanence of something takes quite a bit of time and….paperwork."

Harry stared at Snape's signature again. Why was none of this making sense?

"Additionally," the headmaster continued, "the Ministry requires at least thirty days time to consider the matter, as well as the consent of the Wizengamot and, of course, myself."

"And Severus?" Sirius asked, his face still considerably creased.

"A signature of a neutral, unbiased party was needed as well…"

"Unbiased?" Sirius exclaimed, his voice growing louder with incredulity, "Snape's opinion is anything _but_ neutral when it comes to the matter of my godson. What would they need a signature like that for? What does it prove?"

Harry frowned. "What's unbiased?"

"It indicates, my boy, that the guardianship has been recommended by someone who has witnessed the interaction between the two of you, yet is not involved or related," Dumbledore explained.

No one spoke for a moment.

Harry shifted in his seat. "Well, that's stupid…"

"_Harry_…" Sirius whispered sternly.

"It _is_, Sirius," the boy insisted in an equally hushed tone, turning to face his godfather. "That was the _only_ thing keeping the Minister from agreeing?" He gazed down at the hasty, scribbled signature of Cornelius Fudge.

"Aside from the third-party verification, his line was the only one vacant," Dumbledore mused.

"But not anymore…" Harry said with a sniff.

"You are quite right on that count, dear child," the headmaster finished mirthfully.

Harry thought about this for a few seconds.

_But why Snape?_

"So what happened in here before we came?"

"Lemon drop, Sirius?" Dumbledore inquired, reaching for his tin and ignoring the boy's question.

"No, thank you," Sirius answered immediately. He swiveled to face his perturbed godson. "Do you understand what this means?"

"Yeah," Harry scoffed. "The Ministry's filled with idiots…"

"No, Smartmouth, I mean do you understand what this means for us? As a family?" Sirius pressed, his eyes regaining their warmth and flicker.

"As a family…" Harry repeated lamely.

He glanced up at Dumbledore, who simply raised an eyebrow and jiggled his tin.

"You mean I can stay with you next summer?" Harry asked carefully, resisting the urge to send the lemon drops flying. His heart began to thrum in excitement and disbelief.

"Absolutely," Sirius affirmed with a nod. "…And the next…and after that... I believe I may just have you for life, kiddo."

Harry's felt his throat tighten. This couldn't actually be real. Things like this didn't happen to him. They never did.

"There are," Dumbledore interrupted, "two other signatures you must collect before you and Harry endorse the document. And I'm afraid, for that to happen, you both must be present at the signing for the transfer to be magically sealed."

They turned to face the headmaster.

Harry squeezed a handful of his trousers. More signatures? He felt Sirius's fingers swiftly comb through his hair.

"Who?" Sirius asked evenly.

Dumbledore studied the crystallized sugar on a lemon drop before popping it joyfully into his mouth.

"Vernon and Petunia Dursley."

TBC...

* * *

Please let me know what you thought about this chapter! Dumbledore isn't really meant to be manipulative and frustrating, though you might find him slightly irritating and vague by the end. I always did in the series. 

More will become clear in future chapters. I do hope you liked this one! Thanks for all of your wonderful reviews :)


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: A chapter from Sirius's perspective. I hope you enjoy it!**

The rain splattered messily against the smooth, cloudy panes of the windows in the living room, drowning out the sharp crackles from the small fire that burned in the hearth.

Sirius couldn't concentrate. He was lying on his side on the floor, holding a book loosely in one hand. Every minute or so, he'd glance up at his godson, who was lying flat on his stomach across the sofa.

Sirius watched out of the corner of his eye as Harry idly dragged his fingers through the uneven fringe on the edge of the rug, his green eyes heavy-lidded and glassed-over in thought.

"It's almost eleven," Sirius notified softly.

Harry didn't stir. His occasionally wiggling toes—and fingers kept busy by the threads—had been Sirius's only indication of life on the other side of the room.

The binding of Sirius's book touched the floor now, and the yellowed pages were fanned and floating.

"You look sleepy," his godfather attempted once more, shifting a bit on his hip. "Why don't you go on up to bed?"

The heels of Harry's bare feet disappeared inside the cuffs of his baggy pajama bottoms as he exhaled silently. Untangling his fingers from the musty rug, Harry folded his arm close to his body and glanced over at Sirius.

"Do I have to?" Harry mumbled against plush. His glasses rested crookedly on his nose.

Sirius pressed his lips together, stifling an amused smirk at the image of his droopy-eyed godson smashed into the cushions. Harry had a habit of falling asleep in the living room, and Sirius often had to peel the dead-weight kid away from the sofa before he nestled into the crevice and destroyed his glasses.

"Well," Sirius began, looking over his shoulder to check the clock, "not right this instant necessarily, but twenty minutes from now—yes, you _have_ to." Flipping back around, Sirius settled into the carpet again.

As he gazed once more at Harry's inert form, Sirius felt his stomach tighten, knowing that when his godson became quiet and still, something was bothering him. And Sirius hated it. Harry'd been through enough grief in his thirteen years of existence.

"Hey…" Sirius said, tilting his head a bit so that his cheek nearly rested on his shoulder.

Harry glanced up again, emitting a soft noise of acknowledgement.

"Are you ever going to smile again?... Or are we doomed to a life of endless rain clouds and depression?" Sirius joked in his own gentle way.

Harry shrugged weakly.

"Depression for life, then," Sirius clarified with a nod, flipping the cover of his book repeatedly with his thumb. "At least now I can prepare myself…"

The corners of Harry's mouth twitched for a brief second, and then the jollity disappeared as fleetingly as it arrived. His pale back puffed up again with a deep sigh.

Sirius smiled sympathetically. "Harry, what's wrong?" he murmured.

Harry squirmed slightly on the sofa, sneaking a hand in between the cushion and his stomach to scratch at the fabric-indented skin. He stared at his godfather.

"My stomach sort of hurts," Harry slurred, freeing his hand and tucking his fingers underneath his cheek.

Sirius sat up slowly, genuinely surprised. He hadn't been expecting that. "It does?"

The boy shrugged again. "A bit…"

"Harry… Why didn't you tell me?" Sirius exclaimed, shaking his head in a bewildered way. He picked up his novel and tossed it onto the seat of the armchair before pushing himself off of the ground and walking over to the sofa.

He kneeled down, placing the palm of his hand flat against the middle of Harry's back. "Do you feel like you're going to sick up?" Sirius dragged his hand up to Harry's neck and felt around for fever.

Harry shook his head.

"You're not very warm…"

Sirius removed his hand and rested it on his knee while he carefully studied his godson's face. Harry only sighed again, blinking steadily over unfocused eyes while he scraped his thumbnail along the ridged upholstery.

_I wonder_… Sirius thought, the solution finally dawning on him. He should have known.

After the two of them had left Dumbledore's office yesterday, Harry had been rather quiet… again. He'd assured Sirius that he was _fine_, but after a bit of gentle prodding from his godfather, Harry admitted that he was just sick and tired of worrying about signatures and _all that legal rubbish_ as the boy had described it. Feeling guilty, Sirius had promised his godson that this would be the last trip they'd have to make concerning the guardianship. In all honesty, Sirius was surprised that Harry hadn't mentioned anything about his horse-faced aunt or anyone else in that ruddy family. Yes, he'd definitely heard a story or two from James. But Sirius had never actually _met_ any of the Dursleys. Dumbledore had said that Harry's life in Surrey hadn't exactly been blissful, but he'd sworn the child had been _provided for_… Provided what? Sirius had wanted to ask. But neither the headmaster nor his godson had wanted to discuss the matter over tea and biscuits. So Sirius had done the only thing he knew to do in the situation: he trusted the man who helped him get custody of the thirteen-year-old who was his life. Who _saved_ his life. Who Sirius loved and worried for so much that his heart felt like it was pierced with a thousand shards of glass whenever Harry's eyes were cloudy with apprehension and sadness.

Like now...

Sirius felt his godson's forehead one last time. "Are you thinking about Thursday again?" Sirius questioned after a moment.

Harry stopped picking at the sofa.

The impending trip to Surrey was still two days away. And Harry had promised Sirius that he wasn't worried. However, this was the second time today that his little bundle of adolescent energy had gone quiet on him.

Settling back against the edge of a nearby table, Sirius drew a knee up slightly and rested one arm across his leg, hooking his fingers together as he waited for a response.

Receiving none, Sirius breathed evenly and tried a different approach. "Remember how I told you that I moved in with your dad when I was about sixteen?"

Harry glanced over at his godfather. He moved his stilled thumb up to his mouth and began to nibble on the nail as he listened.

"Do you remember?"

Harry nodded against the cushions.

"Well," the man continued, feeling a bit more stabilized by the tiny nod, "I had been living with your grandparents for a month or so, and one day over the summer, I had to go _back_ to Grimmauld Place to pick up some important things I'd forgotten—some papers for school I think—because my parents wouldn't answer any of the Potters' letters that requested they'd send them."

"How come?" Harry wondered, speaking around his thumbnail.

Sirius sniffed and shook his head sardonically. "They were idiots." He left it at that.

"Oh…" Harry replied. Removing the end of his wet, wrinkled thumb from his teeth, Harry burrowed it into his fist of fingers to dry it off before tucking his hand underneath his cheek again. "Were they angry when you went back?"

Sirius shrugged, his eyes trailing absently along the rug's fringe Harry had recently been fiddling with. "My mother was incredibly annoyed. She called me some pretty vile names…"

Leisurely, Harry pried himself up from the cushions, settling cross-legged in the middle of the sofa. He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, leaning his head upon the backrest, giving his godfather a half-smile when he noticed that Sirius was watching him with raised eyebrows.

From stomach to chest, Harry's pale skin was thoroughly striped with the sofa-pattern, but he paid no mind to it.

"Were you scared?" the boy asked quietly.

"I was nervous to go back, yes," Sirius answered truthfully. "But in the end, I knew that it couldn't last forever; I knew I'd be returning to people who cared for me."

Biting on the corner of his bottom lip, Harry nodded. As if suddenly noticing his ridged skin, Harry glanced down and began rubbing his knuckles over his belly button. Sirius knew the exertion would be pointless, but he said nothing as his godson continued with the nervous habit.

"Are you worried about going back to the Dursleys?" Sirius inquired suddenly, twisting his fingers against each other as he watched Harry smooth his fist along his stomach—the movements becoming smaller and more sporadic as his brain absorbed the question.

After a few seconds, Harry glanced up carefully. He let his hands drop, tucking them underneath his thighs while he chewed on the insides of his cheeks.

Face and ears blushing a subtle pink, the boy nodded.

_I knew it_, the man thought, scorning himself. _Damn you, Sirius…you bloody fool._

He pushed himself up from the floor, feeling stiff and at a complete loss for words. Remus would know exactly how to handle this. He'd know how to comfort Harry without smothering him with sympathy.

Sirius just wanted to cradle his messy-haired godson, not caring that he was almost fourteen years old.

But instead, he simply seated himself on the cushion next to Harry. The boy's eyes followed his godfather's every movement. He didn't pull away.

Forcing himself to swallow the uncertainty, yet still feeling clumsy, Sirius rested his arm across the back of the sofa, behind Harry's head.

"If they were unkind to you, Harry, I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking. "If I could have been there earlier, I would have taken you far away from Surrey…"

"To where?" Harry glanced over, now resting his temple against the sofa.

"Well," Sirius began, shifting his palm a bit so that it rested on top of the boy's warm hair, "anywhere you would have wanted to go."

"Yeah?"

"Absolutely."

"The seaside?" Harry offered, his glasses slipping a bit as the frames rubbed against sofa.

Sirius removed his hand, pushing them up on Harry's nose with a fingertip. "Sure."

"Brilliant," Harry commented, smiling for a second before looking down into his lap, seemingly absorbed in contemplation. The smile faded slowly as his fingers fussed with the folds of his flannel bottoms. "They weren't really that awful to me, Sirius," the boy said softly. "Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia just didn't really like me, is all. The mostly just ignored me…like I said before…"

Sirius stomach burned—as if the lining were being stripped away piece by piece. But on the outside, he remained calm, forcing himself to listen.

"They hated that I was a wizard, and if something strange happened—even when I was little and I didn't mean for it to—they usually just shut me up in my room until they thought everyone just forgot about it, I guess."

Unable to contain himself any longer, Sirius silently put his arm around Harry's shoulder, slipping his other hand underneath the boy's armpit to pull him closer. Still cross-legged and holding onto his pajamas, Harry allowed himself to sag against his godfather's chest.

"I'm listening," Sirius reassured him softly.

"But then…" Harry swallowed. "Well, remember how I told you about Dobby and how he just appeared in my bedroom two summers ago?"

"Mmmhmm."

Harry had told Sirius a lot about his first and second years at Hogwarts, but he'd failed to mention the floating pudding and how Vernon's face turned redder than any of them had ever seen it.

So he told him now.

After Harry had finished stammering his explanation, Sirius bowed his head a bit to get a better look at his godson's face. "You didn't tell me about that…"

"I know," Harry replied quietly.

They sat quietly for a few seconds. Sirius wasn't sure if he wanted to hear about what happened next. Why had Harry kept this from him?

"Did your uncle punish you?" The words made Sirius's throat ache.

Harry squirmed against him, and Sirius squeezed his godson's shoulder lightly.

"Uncle Vernon made me wait upstairs for a really long time…" Harry began.

Sirius felt his tongue snagging in his dry throat. "What for?"

"He told me he was going to flay me alive or something like that—he was really, _really_ angry. And, I mean…he said stuff like that all of the time, but he never actually thrashed me or anything. This time, though, I was afraid, because he looked like he was serious. He took his belt off and everything…"

Sirius tightened his hold on Harry. He was feeling positively ill. _Dammit_, _Albus_, he thought. "How long did he make you wait before he came up?"

Harry paused for a moment. He reached up and scratched at his nose again. "He never did."

"He didn't?"

Harry shook his head and began picking at his hem once more, tugging at the baggy material. "I couldn't sleep because I was so nervous that night—I thought he was going to come upstairs and whip me."

"But he _didn't_," Sirius affirmed. The smoldering tightness in his chest was beginning to ebb.

"No…"

Sirius reached up and smoothed back the child's hair. His own palms were damp.

"I was such baby, though, Sirius," Harry whispered. The man could sense his godson's face and neck warming as the boy leaned against him. "I'd been sitting up in my room for hours, and when I couldn't fall asleep, I cried. I couldn't help it."

"That was a terrible thing your uncle did to you…making you wait…"

"But I should've known he'd just lock me up in my room like he always did," Harry argued, clutching fistfuls of material this time.

"Someone should have locked _him_ up in a nuthouse," Sirius exclaimed, leaning his head wearily against the back of the sofa. "You had every right to be upset, Bub. I would have made myself sick worrying about something like that…"

Harry paused. He craned his neck upwards. "Really?"

"Yes."

Another pause.

His godson seemed to have relaxed the muscles in his back and shoulders. But Sirius continued trailing his thumb along Harry's shoulder, relieved to hear that Dursley hadn't beaten his godson but still disgusted, nonetheless.

"I told you about the basilisk, didn't I?" Harry suddenly spoke up.

"You and Dumbledore both… And I'm still trying to come to terms with it. Merlin's shorts…"

He watched his godson's cheeks puff up with an amused smile. Harry pressed his hand against Sirius's stomach so he could sit up straighter, rolling his eyes as his godfather dramatized an indignant _oomph_ at the pressure.

Harry squinted at the clock. "I've still got four minutes."

"I know," Sirius replied. "Use them to listen to me for a second…"

Twisting around, Harry leaned back against the arm of the sofa, drew up his knees, and waited for his godfather to speak.

Sirius gave him a solemn look. "This is going to be an in-and-out trip to your aunt and uncle's house, Harry. I absolutely promise."

"I can't stand them…"

"I know," Sirius said with a nod. "And you've got several good reasons not to. But after this, I swear— Are you listening to me, Harry James?"

The boy nodded.

"I _swear_ it… You don't ever have to see them again if you don't want to. I'll make sure of it."

Harry studied the man for a moment, adjusting his glasses carelessly. He smiled suddenly, revealing his teeth. "Why? Are you gonna pummel them?"

Sirius looked at his godson as if he'd lost his mind. "Of course I won't…"

"You're smiling…"

"I _am_ not," Sirius cried.

Harry laughed.

Sirius felt his insides unthawing at the high, light sound. And this time, he really did smile. It was amazing how quickly his godson could bounce back from the melancholy… Had he been able to do that at Harry's age?

Harry leaned back, yawning and stretching against the arm of the chair, poking Sirius with his feet.

"I believe that's your cue…"

The boy sprang up immediately. "For what?"

Sirius gave him a knowing _look_.

Harry made a face. "I've still got a minute…"

"Come here and give me a hug," Sirius replied gently, holding out his arms, ignoring the minute-plea.

Rising up on his knees and tumbling forward, Harry fell into his godfather's open arms, knocking the man back a little.

Swiftly regaining his balance, Sirius gave him a mighty squeeze, breathing in the faint smell of shampoo and the outdoors as he kissed the top of Harry's head for good measure.

He'd been able to keep his composure in the presence of Severus Snape. Surely, he thought, as he patted the tiny amount of baby fat remaining underneath Harry's ribs, _surely_, he could hold it together in front of the sodding muggles.

Besides, Sirius knew that Harry didn't need him to retaliate. He just needed his godfather.

TBC...

* * *

Next Chapter: The Dursleys 

Thank you so much for all of your feedback. I plan on continuing this story longer than my other one (Emerald Eyes). Since I only have a few chapters left of my other story, I may spend some time finishing it up completely before I write the next chapter of SfS. It shouldn't be longer than about two weeks. And I promise a nice, long chapter after that. Thanks again for all of the encouragement. Hang in there with me...I swear I won't abandon this one ;)


	22. Chapter 22

The balmy July air washed over Harry's cheeks and ruffled the ends of his hair as he stood two houses away from Number Four Privet Drive. But despite the external warmth, staring at the perfectly manicured lawns and nearly identical brick houses that lined the street made Harry feel as if his insides were soaked in ice water.

The sun glinted off of the cars in blinding flashes of white. A few houses down, a small girl and boy in bathing suits took turns skipping happily through a lawn sprinkler, shrieking as the thin streaks of cold water pricked their skin.

As usual, Privet Drive was the picture of an ideal muggle neighborhood.

But as Harry stood on the sticky, black pavement with his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets, everything about the situation was uncomfortable and wrong—as if he'd spent the day running around with his shoes on the wrong feet.

The summer air was almost stifling. But Harry's skin was shivery underneath his t-shirt. Trying to ignore the lusty thrum of his heartbeat, Harry barely noticed when Sirius reached over to tuck the small, protruding tag back into the collar of his shirt. The tickle of the gentle movement against the nape of his neck sent a zinging tremor down his spine.

"You all right?" Sirius asked from beside him.

The boy couldn't tear his eyes away from the two-story house he'd never considered _home_. Squinting, Harry swore he could see the curtains parting and trembling every few seconds.

"Mmmhmm," Harry lied. He reached up and scratched at the tiny beads of perspiration caught in his eyebrows.

"This'll go quickly, Harry," Sirius commented, smoothing his hand over the tiny hairs that still stood up on the back of Harry's neck.

Harry's head swayed absently from the comforting gesture as he stared, pressing his tongue against the cottony dryness of the insides of his cheeks. "Yeah, I know," he muttered around the peculiar placement of his tongue.

"They don't have to do anything but sign…"

"I _know_," the boy reiterated. He knew Sirius meant well, but this preliminary banter was shredding the scanty bravado he was silently attempting to strengthen.

Harry's breath was a bit shaky as he exhaled through his nose, and it surprised him.

"Come on," Sirius prompted gently, "the faster we ring that doorbell, the faster we get out of here."

"It doesn't matter if we stay there for two seconds or two hours," Harry cried, snapping his head towards his godfather. "Uncle Vernon's a bloody tosser…it's not going to matter—"

"Hey," Sirius scolded lightly, drawing Harry over to stand in front of him. Crossing his arms over Harry's shoulders, he pulled his godson against his chest. "Don't talk like that…"

Harry wiggled his fingers deeper into his pockets and ducked his chin, the acidic twinge of dread in his stomach crushing any inkling of repentance that might have poked at Harry's conscience. He was getting better at watching his mouth, but still…

"The Dursleys don't count, Sirius," Harry explained, unconsciously relaxing into his godfather's hold. "They've probably called me worse names."

Shifting his hands to rest leisurely on the boy's shoulders, Sirius considered the exception. "Well…" he replied thoughtfully, "Then you've got to be the better person."

A brief pause.

Without even seeing Harry's face, Sirius could sense the green eyes scrunching up behind the smudged glasses in preparation for a retort.

"But when you were at the Shrieking Shack that one time—"

Sirius reached around and clapped a hand over Harry's mouth, the muscles in the warm, smashed cheeks twitching in protest against his palm. "Just absorb the suggestion, Bub," Sirius said in a slightly strained, yet smiling voice. "Okay?"

Harry mumbled a hasty, incoherent agreement, nodding his head jerkily.

"Good."

Spinning around to face Sirius the second he was released, the boy flashed him a look heavy-laden with false ire.

"I was really close to spitting in your hand, you know…"

"Oh, that's lovely," Sirius commented with an impeccably straight face to counter his godson's sudden, broad grin. "And _I'm_ rather close to tying you to that tree over there." The man nodded toward a nearby oak, shrugging carelessly as Harry gaped at the thick trunk, open-mouthed.

"You're joking, aren't you?" Harry asked, peeking over his shoulder.

Sirius winked at him slyly. He reached over and smoothed Harry's sweaty hair away from his temple, fanning his black fringe across his forehead. "Let's go."

* * *

Uncle Vernon was clad in his best suit.

The collar of his white dress shirt was thoroughly soaked through with sweat as he stood stiffly on the other side of the open door, a forced smile—almost a grimace—twitching the hooked mustache on his glistening, swollen face.

"Harry's here, Petunia!" Vernon crooned sweetly over his shoulder, tapping his fingertips together fretfully—the same, stupid beam plastered across his face while he waited.

The woman strolled into the foyer in one of her best dresses with a nervous, shiny-faced Dudley in tow. Her mouth was painted with thick, maroon lipstick that clashed with her dark-green, floral print dress. In Harry's opinion, it was the most gaudy, disgusting thing she owned. Gritting her teeth, Petunia offered Sirius a half-hearted 'company' grin, her eyes focused just beyond the man's head.

_Why the hell are they acting like this_? Harry thought. The muscles in his legs were unsteady and his stomach clenched. He wasn't even aware that he'd inched closer to Sirius until he felt his godfather's warm hand in the middle of his back. He could feel Sirius peering down at him, but Harry simply couldn't look away from the absurdity.

He could handle the Dursleys and their nastiness, but this…this was bizarre.

"Do come in," Petunia offered, stepping aside, sending Dudley scuttling behind her—one hand firmly clamped against the middle of his rear end.

He'd lost some weight, but still, Dudley was beyond pudgy.

"Yes, just into the parlor," Vernon followed up, waddling forward. "Come along, Dudley."

Petunia trailed behind with slightly less vigor than her husband. She wrung her hands, nodding encouragingly toward a wobbly-lipped Dudley. "Stay by mummy, Diddykins," she soothed.

"_Sirius_," Harry whispered desperately, clenching a fistful of the rolled-up sleeve that rested at his godfather's forearm. "Something's wrong…they're acting really strange."

"Why's your cousin holding his arse like that?"

Harry tightened his hold, throwing up his other hand toward the parlor to reiterate the gravity of the situation.

"It's all right," Sirius murmured gently, noting his godson's urgency. He gave Harry a weak smile. "It doesn't have a thing to do with you…"

He gestured toward the parlor with a jerk of his head, widening his eyes and pulling an amused _I see what you mean _sort of expression.

And then suddenly, it all made sense. They were terrified of Sirius, and his godfather knew it. Having a wizard in their home was bad enough, but one with a _criminal_ record… Harry was surprised Vernon had actually opened the door to him.

Releasing Sirius's sleeve, Harry followed him into the parlor with careful, syrupy steps.

Frantic whispering echoed from around the corner.

But the instant Sirius and Harry came into view, all three Dursleys bustled into stair-step position. Vernon was still grinning like an idiot.

"Tea?" the bulging man inquired shortly, stretching out an open hand toward the small, waiting table adorn with cups and saucers before snapping the appendage back toward his side like elastic.

Vernon's mustache twitched again, and Harry felt like running forward and ripping it off of his face.

"Bub, do you want tea?" Sirius asked him softly.

Harry felt his godfather's hand on his hair again, but he wasn't paying attention to Sirius.

Perched on the mantel was a cheap, rickety frame encasing a faded and wrinkled photograph taken in Harry's first or second year of primary school. It had caught his eye immediately, as the single photograph was sorely noticeable in a sea of smiling Dudleys. And he didn't even have to look too closely to notice the name of the company transparently stamped in diagonal stripes across the picture, indicating that the photograph wasn't chosen from the composites. Harry never had any of those. His aunt had framed an old, sample photo sent to all the parents before they decided on multiples. It looked as if someone had dug it out of the rubbish bin. The only photo the Dursleys possessed of Harry wasn't even a true one.

Harry was mesmerized by his six-year-old self. Bespecled eyes sparkled back at him, oblivious. Since he'd lost his two front teeth that year, Harry's tongue poked through the vacant space among an exaggerated smile. He remembered that year quite well. It was his first and last attempt at bartering with the Tooth Fairy, as Harry had woken up with nothing but a tiny, bloody square attached to roots underneath his pillow. No note. No money. Not even two sodding pence.

But he hadn't cried. That morning, Harry simply felt much like his rejected tooth—dried up and dead inside.

And now his relatives had put that wretched year of his childhood on display. For what? For Sirius? His godfather knew that the Dursleys cared little about him. Sirius wouldn't be fooled by this.

Aunt Petunia's gaze flickered back and forth between the two of them. Her face was tight, but her eyes were dark and creased—almost perplexed. And Harry couldn't help wondering what was going on behind them. He'd never seen her look this way.

"Harry?" his godfather's voice severed his cloud of thought.

"I don't want tea."

Harry's stomach ached like it used to when he was little and unable to dart out of the way of one of Dudley's kicks.

Vernon forced out a brash chuckle. "Always has been a bit persnickety, that one," he remarked, rocking back and forth on his toes as he laced together his thick fingers across his hefty, vest-covered middle.

"_Mum_!" Dudley whined, coloring the single word with a handful of discordant syllables. He sagged forward as much as his rotund figure would allow. "You _promised_ I could have two biscuits…"

"I need to show Sirius something in my old room," Harry croaked, unsure of his intention. He only knew that he couldn't stand one more second of Dudley's whinging among the familiar, nauseating smell of faded lemon cleaner and shortbread.

Vernon's beady eyes dashed wildly around the room, finally pinning his wife with an undeclared question.

But Harry didn't wait to see what her response would be. Spinning on his heel, he reached over and clutched Sirius's sleeve again, dragging him toward the stairs.

* * *

The repairs on his bedroom door were shoddy. Thick paste had been slapped over the cracks after a mismatched, discolored square of solid wood had been shoved in where the flap used to be.

Harry stared at the poorly-concealed mess. Vernon had simply bandaged the abrasion. But to Harry, it looked even more mutilated than before.

"Is this your room?" Sirius asked from behind him.

Wordlessly, Harry nodded.

Stretching an arm around his godson, Sirius tried the doorknob. Surprisingly, it clicked opened. Harry had almost expected his room to be padlocked. However, the Dursleys weren't completely dense. They loathed suspicion. And in his relatives' minds, Harry knew that a sealed bedroom would raise questions. They could only take so much fear before going nutters. And today, having Sirius in their home was enough.

Placing a hand on Harry's shoulder, his godfather guided him into the small, musty room.

Everything looked as he'd left it. Except for the bed.

The lumps in the mattress were still visible, but the bedding had been changed. Harry felt the heat spread from his toes all the way up as he scanned the dark blue comforter and pillow. They were Dudley's from nearly two years ago—a much nicer set of bedclothes than his thin, plaid blanket and graying sheets.

Another microscopic bandage applied to a bleeding, festering cut.

His bulletin board still remained with a single drawing tacked to the corner. Harry recognized it right away—the Burrow. Every other one of his pencil-sketches of Hogwarts had been taken down. As the drawings only represented Harry's boredom-induced ingenuity, he didn't mind that much. Only the Dursleys would feel threatened by paper and pencil lead.

"This is…quaint," Sirius commented as he glanced around the room, turning a full circle as he stood in the middle of the small, weaved rug.

Harry shook his head, focusing on the slight layer of filth covering his desk and eddying among the sun rays like gold dust. He sat down on the edge of his old bed, his folded hands hovering between his knees. The bedsprings nearly protruded through the worn mattress, mercilessly jabbing Harry in the behind like they always did. But he ignored the discomfort.

Moving forward, Sirius lowered himself next to Harry. "We don't have to stay here any longer than you want to," he began, staring down at the messy, bowed head. "You know that…"

Harry nodded feebly, unsure of how to respond. He had no idea what had prompted him to show Sirius his pathetic excuse for a room. What was _he_ trying to prove? Drained and embarrassed, Harry felt a stirring in his sinuses. But just as he'd done countless times in the past, he successfully blinked back the wetness forming behind his eyes.

"Did you draw this?" Sirius asked, leaning back and tugging at the corner of the drawing still attached to the punctured board. The push pin released with a couple more yanks, the parchment flopping over from its weight as Sirius righted himself and rested it on his knee.

Gazing down at his tentative sketch, Harry reached over and plucked out the pin, tossing it across the room with a flick of his wrist.

"Yeah," the boy mumbled, sniffing quickly and swiping all four knuckles across his nose before scooting closer. "It was just a drawing I did last summer when I was bored…"

"It's good," Sirius replied, unfolding a corner and pressing out the crease between his thumb and forefinger.

"Not really…"

"Well, I'm keeping it," his godfather stated resolutely. "What do you think of that?"

Harry shrugged. "You don't _have_ to."

"But I want to."

Glancing over at Sirius, Harry watched as the man tapped his wand to the wilted paper, shrinking it down to a square inch, before tucking it into his wallet and replacing both items back into his pockets, grimacing as he shifted around on the lumpy mattress.

"They're just putting on a show, you know…" Harry mumbled suddenly, gazing back at his jeans. "They don't really act like that. I think they're afraid you'll blast them to bits or something."

Smirking in amusement, Sirius stretched an arm across Harry's back and gathered him up into a warm side-squeeze. "Who knows, I might still…"

Harry glanced up, with peaked eyebrows. "Really?"

Widening his eyes to mimic his godson's expression, Sirius sucked in a dramatic breath only to reply calmly, "You never know."

A small smile found its way onto Harry's lips. His godfather had a way of cheering him up by the most ridiculous means. And it almost always worked.

"What was it you wanted to show me?" Sirius asked, pushing himself off of the bumpy mattress and offering Harry a hand.

Running his thumb over a particular sharp area, Harry glanced around his old room. If he looked closely, he could see a few jagged pieces of wood protruding around the frame outside of his window where the bars had been torn off. The off-white putty smeared around the bottom of the door was ugly and stood out to Harry like hunks of mud in snow.

He knew that Sirius wouldn't notice these things—the particularly foul pieces of his childhood that used to splinter his spirit.

But Harry also knew that relating every horrid event of his past wouldn't make a difference. He didn't want to upset his godfather, and besides, none of it mattered. He never had to return here again.

Folding his hand in Sirius's, Harry let his godfather heave him up.

"Nevermind."

* * *

Even before they reached the landing at the bottom of the stairs, Harry could hear Vernon bellowing from the kitchen. _Ah,_ Harry thought, strangely comforted by the familiar squabble, _this is more like it._

Sirius had placed a hand on his shoulder as if to reassure him, and Harry didn't have the heart to tell his godfather that it wasn't necessary. He'd rather his was uncle red-faced and mindlessly hollering. Harry was used to it.

The volume of Vernon's voice rose and fell amidst the heated outburst, followed by his aunt's distinctive shushing noises.

"… _ungrateful_ freaks! The whole bleeding _lot_ of them! And that ruddy…_boy_! He's as abnormal as the long-haired, murdering—"

"_Hush_, Vernon, you'll upset Dudders."

Harry wrinkled his nose in disdain as he and Sirius entered the living room. _Dudders_ was sprawled out on the sofa with his fist buried deep in a box of chocolate biscuits, his stomach covered in black crumbs. So content he was in front of the telly with his box of sweets, Dudley didn't even notice the extra bodies in the doorway.

"…to come barging into _MY HOUSE_!" Vernon's roaring voice vibrated with dignity at the possessive exclamation.

Not more than a second later, Dudley inhaled a biscuit crumb and promptly sat up, hacking, his box of sweets scattered on the carpet.

For the first time, Harry felt as if he were looking in on the Dursleys through a window. And it suddenly dawned on him—he wasn't a part of this. Vernon could scream and rupture blood vessels all he wanted. His aunt could glare at him with her pinched, lemon face. Dudley could stuff in biscuits until he puked.

There was no reason for Harry to become weepy over the Dursleys' injustice, he realized. At the end of the day, he was going home with Sirius.

Harry clamped his teeth down on his lips as he pressed them together. The longer he listened—objectively—the more hilarious the situation became. He glanced up at Sirius and was startled to find his godfather standing stiffly with a fistful of dark hair tangled in his fingers, quietly seething.

Harry attempted to smile at him, to let Sirius know everything was going to be all right. But Sirius only pressed a hand against the boy's chest, steering him over to stand against the banister. He leaned down, speaking softly in a grave, firm voice.

"Stay right here. We're signing. And then we're leaving. I don't want you in the kitchen until I call you, all right?"

Harry nodded swiftly, wrapping his fingers around a thin pole; the jollity instantly drained out of him. He wanted to explain to Sirius that Vernon used the words _ungrateful_ and _freak_ as often as he drew air into his lungs, but this was clearly one of those instances when his godfather wasn't joking around.

He watched as Sirius swept his hair out of his eyes and strolled determinedly into the next room.

* * *

Vernon glanced over his shoulder at the sound of approaching footsteps while Petunia clutched his brawny arm in desperation. They both scampered backwards until the man's enormous backside collided with the refrigerator, the affronted appliance bobbling unhappily.

The Transfer of Guardianship form lay on the kitchen table; both of its folded ends were vertically attentive and waiting.

Vernon puffed up at the sight of Sirius standing in the middle of the kitchen with his hand tucked into his back pocket. "Rejecting undeserved hospitality, eh? Well, I'll not have the likes of _you_ traipsing about—"

"I need a pen," Sirius stated simply, cutting the man off. He could feel his heart racing but knew that keeping his temper under control was more important than anything right now.

He had thought he could handle the brief trip. Sitting on Harry's horrible, wire-laden mattress upstairs, Sirius had even thought he could keep it together _then_ if only for his godson's sake. He knew _exactly_ what the muggles were trying to do, and Sirius could have easily overlooked it. But the shouting had impaled his placid resolve. The name-calling tore at his heart—had acted as the catalyst for the sudden emergence of buried emotions. Just as it always had when he was a child. Exactly the way he'd felt at sixteen before Sirius had finally separated himself from the earsplitting screams and insults.

Vernon sputtered a few mottled swear words and incoherencies. Petunia had her teeth fastened fearfully around a knuckle.

_This was Lily's sister?_ Sirius thought. _What a couple of_ _bumbling idiots…_

"A pen!" he repeated, throwing up his hands. "Give me a bloody pen!"

The Dursleys cringed in unison.

"Here."

Sirius spun around.

Standing casually behind the threshold of the kitchen was Harry, an uncapped pen in his hand.

"Harry James…_what_ did I say?" Sirius began sternly, though he kept his voice as steady and hushed as he always did when he scolded

"Erm...that you needed a pen?" the boy stuttered, scratching his arm with the few fingers that weren't clinging to the writing utensil. "There's loads of them in the study—"

"No. _Before_ that…"

"You're not allowed _in_ the study, boy!" Vernon raged, the plan of perfect-family play-acting deteriorating by the minute—virtually forgotten.

His fleshy hand darted out to snatch up the pen, but Sirius caught Harry by the arm in a flash, tugging him towards the table. Silently, Sirius pointed to one of the thin lines scrawled on the edge of the parchment. Taking the hint, Harry leaned over and etched his name in tiny, cursive print.

As Sirius moved forward swiftly, the Dursleys flinched once again. He waited until Vernon's eyes reappeared in his fat, sticky face before speaking.

"Don't touch him," Sirius warned hoarsely, more dismayed than angry. He shook his head, smoothing back his hair. "Ever."

Vernon gulped for air like a fish out of water as Sirius turned on his heel to face his godson who was currently chewing on a fingernail, eyes scanning the scene with vivacity.

"Go and wait for me by the door, please," Sirius told the boy with a nod.

Dropping the pen onto the table, Harry exited immediately. Sirius watched as the pen rolled along the parchment for a few inches before bouncing back from the crease and stilling. After scribbling his name across his indicated area, Sirius straightened up and nodded towards the Dursleys.

"Just sign it so I can take my godson home."

Still clinging to Vernon like static, Petunia gestured with a flick of her narrowed eyes. Together, they inched forward step-by-step. The pen twirled around several times in Vernon's slippery, shaking hand before he finally managed a sloppy autograph.

After both names had been recorded, the parchment suddenly vanished into thin air.

Petunia squalled and Vernon swore violently as they shuffled back into their previous positions on the far side of the refrigerator.

"All right, we've signed the blasted thing! Good riddance, I say!" Vernon panted, cringing as soon as the words left his lips. The sweat trickled from his forehead and bled into his tight collar.

Sirius sniffed under his breath in disgust as he turned. "You didn't deserve him…"

"LEAVE!"

Without looking back, Sirius swore under his breath as he strode toward the corridor. "Gladly."

* * *

Harry dragged his trainers along the stones underneath the old, paint-chipped merry-go-round at an empty park off of Magnolia Crescent. Sirius was sitting next to him, staring at the swings. He'd barely uttered more than a few words among the hasty pounding of shoes against pavement. Harry had to nearly jog to keep up.

Glancing over at his godfather every few seconds, the boy began chewing on the insides of his cheeks.

The last time Sirius had gone this somber and quiet, Harry had been in massive trouble and had ended up getting his bottom walloped with the sole of a slipper. He hadn't meant to disobey this time either. It's just…Sirius needed a pen. And since the Dursleys were basically cemented to the linoleum…

Harry flicked the tip of his thumb against his forefinger while he studied the lines in his godfather's face. "Are you angry with me?" he asked carefully. The silence was killing him. In Harry's opinion, the trip to Surrey hadn't been terrible. Odd, maybe... But not horrid. Things could have definitely turned out much more ghastly than they did.

Gazing at the swings for only a small while longer, Sirius finally reached over. And placing a broad palm against the side of the Harry's head, he pulled his godson close to his chest, rotating his fingertips around and around in the sun-warmed hair as he held him.

Face pressed up against Sirius's shirt, Harry breathed deeply in relief. No, he was not in trouble. But he still felt a bit guilty. Harry was conjuring up a decent apology when his godfather moved his hand to rest against Harry's forehead, tipping his head back. Sirius glanced down at him with a pained expression.

Harry squinted up at him against the sun.

"You are very loved…you know that, don't you?" Sirius asked, snaking a finger down to push Harry's glasses up further on the bridge of his nose.

Scooting his seat a bit closer so he wasn't leaning over such an acute angle, Harry rested an elbow on his knee as he stretched out his other leg and dug his heel into the rocks. He hunched over a bit as Sirius released his forehead.

"Yeah," Harry responded, rocking his heel back and forth causing the rocks to crunch and scrape against each other, "I know." _I do now, anyway, _he thought.

Harry shifted his eyes over once more, squinting again. "So are you…"

For the first time since they'd descended the stairs at Number Four, Privet Drive, Sirius smiled lightly before bowing his head in agreement. "I know."

Nodding, Harry's eyes drifted toward the rocks again. He didn't want to talk about the Dursleys or anything that happened. And obviously, Sirius didn't either. Harry was glad.

"Would you like to see where I grew up?" his godfather inquired, his voice lofty and light with pensive inflection.

Swiveling around, Harry froze, startled by the sudden question. "Seriously?"

"Why not?" his godfather commented with a one-armed shrug. "It's only fair, don't you think?"

"I guess…"

"It's settled then," Sirius stated, his words far more resolute than the gleam in his eyes. Harry noticed this right away but didn't mention it. "We can go over the weekend," he continued. "The house has been mine for years… I just haven't found a reason to visit."

"It sounds like fun," Harry supplied, stretching out his legs and pressing the heels of his hands against the flaky wood he was resting against. "I haven't been very many places except Hogwarts…well, and Diagon Alley…"

"Where would you like to go now?" Sirius piped up.

Harry tilted his head in a questioning manner. "Now?"

"_Yes_, now."

His godfather winked. And suddenly Harry's mind floated to their conversation two nights prior. _If I had been there, I would have taken you far away…_

"Anywhere?"

"Possibly..."

"Erm…" Harry thought for a moment, scrunching up his eyes and nibbling on his cheek again. "Can we… I mean, will you really take me to the seaside?"

Sirius studied him.

"You've _really_ never been?"

Shielding his eyes from the sun, Harry shook his head. "Huh-uh." Was it really that common?

Sirius contemplated the prospect for another few seconds, placing his own flattened hand against his eyes to barricade the brightness. "All right," he said thoughtfully. "But we'll need to get you a bathing suit."

"Brilliant," Harry answered, grinning and sitting up; his stomach was beginning to tingle with excitement. "Thanks, Sirius."

Returning the jovial expression, Sirius smoothed the back of his curled fingers over one of Harry's puffed-out cheeks. "You're welcome, Bub."

TBC...

* * *

I'll be honest: this chapter was the ultimate butt-kicker. But I'm holding my breath, hoping that you enjoyed it. I know, I know...it's been a couple of weeks, and I hope I haven't let you down with this chapter... It's been a tough week. Thanks for being so awesomely patient and understanding.

So, uh...what DID you think? ;)


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Forgive me. I wanted to post this a bit earlier this week, but well, you know how life is... ;) Thanks for all of the wonderful reviews. And to the anonymous reviewers to whom I can't respond, thanks for your feedback!**

Harry frowned at the image of himself in the full-length mirror that was bolted behind the door of his closet.

The last time he'd worn a pair of swimming trunks he had been ten years old and forced to swim lengths for his primary school's physical education class during its annual two-week stint in the ancient, chorine-fogged pool.

Even then, Harry had been one of the smallest boys in his year. But seeing as it was only eight days until his fourteenth birthday, he'd hoped that this year he would grow out of that.

Harry glanced down at his pale torso, watching as his stomach puffed up and deflated in gentle, involuntary movements. Fourteen was definitely the age that all of his mates would begin getting muscles, wouldn't they? Nibbling at his bottom lip, Harry sucked in his belly, the waistband of his maroon trunks shrinking and stretching back out again as the boy blew out his breath.

Remus had picked out a surprisingly decent suit for him, considering Harry had told him to grab anything he thought looked relatively dark-colored and inconspicuous. The swimming uniform he'd been forced to wear over three years ago had been bright orange and hideous. His new trunks were a vast improvement. Remus had gone alone to Diagon Alley, considering their last trip had been a disaster. But as embarrassing as it was to come to grips with the intentional restriction, Harry didn't really mind. He hated shopping.

The few times he'd had to tag along after the Dursleys when Mrs. Figg was unable to watch him, those days had always ended on the same, desolate note: Dudley whining for ice cream while Aunt Petunia struggled to button his trousers in the dressing rooms…A dawdling, cranky Harry with red splotches on his arms and legs from his aunt's pinches and slaps when he slumped in the corner, refusing to be dragged around for another second.

It was torturous.

Shaking off the cringe-inducing memories, Harry scratched at his airborne fringe. Moving a bit closer to the mirror, he squinted. Were his glasses getting bigger? Maybe his face was thinning a bit. Lowering his hand, Harry poked his index finger into the soft skin of one of his cheeks. They seemed even rounder and puffier since the beginning of the summer.

_Like_ _a baby_, Harry thought scornfully, sniffing in irritation as he slid his toes a bit further toward the mirror.

His arms were still thin, but at least his ribs had burrowed back into his flesh. Harry had always been described as skinny and slight by his primary school teachers and the frizzy-haired nurse that had nearly gagged him with a tongue depressor the time he showed up to school with a _barking cough_, or so she'd diagnosed. Harry had never liked her. She was always wrinkling her nose at him and clicking her tongue like she had better things to do than weigh-in the students each term and take their temperatures.

Wiggling his shoulders as if he had a stiff neck, Harry held his breath, hoping the cord of a muscle would peek out of his smooth skin. No such luck.

He was officially scrawny. A four-eyed, baby-faced runt who would never be tall...or good-looking…

Harry was gazing so intently at his reflection with furrowed brows of disapproval that barely noticed the addition body behind him, leaning against the door frame and watching with amused curiosity.

"What're you doing, Bub?" Sirius asked from behind him.

Harry jerked away from the mirror, blinking as if he'd just been sprayed in the face with water. His body prickled in embarrassment, though he wasn't sure why. It's not like Sirius had caught him doing anything particularly scandalous.

"Erm…" Harry stammered, the words scrambling in his brain as he attempted to form an explanation. "I…nothing," he finally managed. He absently hooked a thumb into the waistband of his bathing suit, feeling unbelievably stupid. Stretching his foot out, Harry nudged his closet door closed with his toes. "Are we leaving now?"

"Pretty soon. Are you ready?" Sirius countered, shifting a bit so his weight was on his shoulder blade. He hooked his own thumbs into the pockets of his trousers, his brows arched as he waited for confirmation.

"Yeah," Harry answered, moving over to his chest of drawers to choose a t-shirt. "How are we getting there?" He sifted through the pile of soft, stacked cotton. Settling on a plain, white shirt, he pulled it on quickly, his temporarily flattened hair springing up as soon as the collar cleared his head.

"I think we'll apparate again," his godfather explained, straightening up and stepping into the room. He pointed to Harry's strewn trainers that had most likely flown across the room and tumbled to a halt as the boy kicked them off of his feet.

Harry made a face as he sauntered over to his shoes. "It makes me feel like my head is going to explode," the boy complained as he balanced on one foot while wiggling the other into his trainer.

"Well," Sirius began, his arm shooting out to grab a handful of Harry's t-shirt as the boy nearly stumbled after an especially rickety, one-legged wobble. "I suppose we could always spend the week hiking to the seaside on foot…" Righting his godson, Sirius rolled his eyes playfully.

"We could fly," Harry suggested with a shrug, his eyes soft and gleaming with excitement over such an idea.

"Nice try," Sirius mumbled, reaching up and giving Harry's cheeks a gentle squeeze. "You still have eight days until your birthday. That's what we agreed on, remember?"

"Yeah," Harry mumbled gloomily, wrinkling his nose at the over all concept of punishment, "I remember…" Unconsciously, his fingers strayed to his face where Sirius had pinched his cheeks together.

_Only eight days and I still look like a kid_, he thought.

Sirius watched him for a few seconds, his eyes hooded with concern over the expression on his godson's face. "What is it?"

"Huh?" Harry responded shortly when he noticed his godfather looking at him. "Oh...nothing." He shrugged again, his eyes straying toward the knobs on his chest of drawers. "Not really, anyway…"

Focusing on the tiny flecks of rust among the brass, Harry grappled with his thoughts.

"Hey, Sirius?"

"Hey, what?..."

Harry glanced over at his godfather who smiled warmly at him before trudging towards the rumpled bedclothes. Grasping a corner, Sirius straightened them with a brisk yank. He gestured with his eyebrows to let Harry know he was listening.

Flipping his dangling shoestrings around with lazy jolts of his ankle, Harry chewed on the inside of his lip for a few seconds before proceeding with his question. "How tall was my dad?"

"How tall?"

"Mmm-hmm," Harry affirmed, nodding his head a bit.

Sirius sauntered forward thoughtfully. "Well…" he began, his flattened palm hovering around his own nose. "I'm not sure exactly, but he came up to about _here_ on me."

"Oh…" Harry pinched the earpiece of his glasses to adjust them, still thinking. "What about when he was my age? Was he taller than me?"

Eyes glossing over with a gleam of fond understanding that was lost on his godson, Sirius crooked his forefinger. "C'mere."

As Harry shuffled over to stand in front of him, Sirius extended his palm, but this time, he skimmed over Harry's head and drew his hand back to his own chest to measure. "He was a bit taller than this, I suppose," the man stated in a deliberate, off-handed tone. "But not by much… Your mum was actually taller, I think."

Glancing over at the rounded knobs for another instant, Harry reached up and ruffled his naturally spiked hair. "How come I'm so short?" he asked quietly, his voice edged with vexation at his own deficiency.

"You've grown since June," Sirius assured him. "You've gained a bit of weight, too. In a good way…" Stretching out his fingers, he quickly brushed back an exceptionally wayward strand of cropped, black hair erected on the boy's head.

It sprang back up haughtily.

"I have?" Harry asked, tilting his head and running his fingertips repeatedly over the place on his head that Sirius had attempted to tame.

"You have."

"Oh," Harry commented again. He stared down at his torso again, silently disagreeing with his godfather. Maybe he'd grown an inch. Maybe not. But something about the casual reassurance made him feel a bit better. Slightly less abnormal…

"Lace up," Sirius told him, nodding toward the dangling shoestrings. "Merlin's pants, Bub, I just had a vision of you tumbling down the stairs."

Smirking good-naturedly at the deliberation, Harry kneeled down, tying up his trainers. "You're completely mad," the boy claimed between practiced tugs. "I've never tripped down the stairs…

"Double-knot them, and maybe you'll keep it that way," Sirius instructed from above.

"I used to have to triple-knot them when I was little…"

Hooking the loops through his thumbs and yanking tightly, Harry stood, vaulting his brows over the rims of his glasses. "Happy?"

"Thrilled."

Suddenly, Sirius circled his arm around Harry's shoulders and jostled him playfully. "I'll give you _mad_…" he joked through gritted teeth. Nudging his godson forward, Sirius gave him a quick crack on the behind with the back of his hand before Harry could dodge it. "Go on."

"I'm going…" Harry said with a laugh. He bolted toward the stairs, hand squeaking along the banister as he swung around and clambered down.

"Pull some things out of the cupboard for lunch," Sirius called out over the dense pounding of footsteps, grinning and shaking his head as he took the steps slowly.

* * *

Everything was exactly as Harry imagined it would be. Except for the smell of the air. It was salty and moist and fresh, instead of sweet. It was a stupid premonition, but Harry had always imagined the seaside smelling like suntan lotion. Even though the water was a bit chilly, Harry had splashed into it immediately, sitting silently, his feet sinking into the wet sand as the frothy water engulfed his legs before it was sucked away by the waves.

They'd apparated to a small, empty area covered with silky, warmed sand among a smattering of boulders along the coast. Except for the sound of the waves, it was quiet and peaceful. Harry thought it was perfect.

After a while, Sirius sat down next to him in the water, soaking his old, rolled-up trousers but never mentioning a thing about it.

Lying back into the clay-like warmth, Harry scrunched up his lids against the milky-orange sun. There had been more clouds than sunshine today, but it didn't matter. Harry was content just watching the water roll over itself again and again. And besides, Sirius claimed that the weather was just right for the seaside today. Knowing nothing about the seaside in Scotland, Harry took his word.

"This is nice, isn't it?" Sirius asked him as he leaned back on the heels of his hands and stretched out his legs next to Harry's.

Glancing over with droopy lids, Harry lifted his head a bit as the water bubbled over him, tickling his sides and drifting dangerously close to his ears. "Yeah," he agreed. "It's brilliant. Thanks for taking me here, Sirius." Harry tried to smile his gratitude but ending up having to tense his neck muscles and lift his head as the water splashed over him again, dotting his glasses with water.

"Oops...careful," Sirius commented, reaching out in case he needed to lift his godson's submerged head. But Harry had been quick, and he scooted back a few feet, scraping the imprint of his body along the sand as he moved. Sirius followed.

"I'm all right," Harry assured him, smoothing away the drops of water on his cheeks with wet, wrinkled palms.

"I know," his godfather agreed, thumbing away a stray drip at the boy's chin as Harry flopped back down, still smiling. "Having fun, I take it?"

Nodding enthusiastically against the grainy wetness, Harry flipped over on his stomach. "Loads." His back was completely coated in sand.

Laying his cheek against his stacked hands, Harry buried his toes into the sand, feeling sleepy. They sat quietly for a few minutes as Sirius placed his hand in the middle of his godson's back and rubbed small, erratic patterns along the gritty skin as he listened to the sound of the waves roaring and receding to whispers.

"Sirius?" Harry mumbled against his hands. His jaw was beginning to feel stiff, but he was too relaxed to move.

"What, Bub?" Sirius leaned back on his elbow and chuckled a bit as Harry's face came into sight. "Don't fall asleep on me…"

"I won't," Harry replied, freeing a hand to push his slightly sand-specked glasses up onto his nose before tracing circles in the sand with a fingertip. "How old were you when you had a girlfriend for the first time?"

A bit startled by the unexpected question, Sirius shifted on his elbow and cleared his throat. "Well…" he began in his familiar way of indicating that he was giving the matter consideration. "I suppose I was around your age. Maybe a bit younger… But it wasn't anything serious. I had no idea what I was doing…"

"But you _had_ a girlfriend when you were thirteen, though…right?"

Sirius gazed thoughtfully at his prostrated kid. "I guess you could put it that way," he carefully responded, the inflection in his voice exposing his uncertainty of Harry's intention.

_Tell me this isn't the moment_… Sirius inwardly begged, his stomach coiling. He wasn't so certain he could deal with a discussion on sex at a time like this.

He held his breath, waiting for Harry to speak, watching as the rutted circle grew gradually darker as the boy buried his finger deeper and deeper with every pass. But he didn't say anything.

_Maybe not?_

"Your dad was almost seventeen before he began seeing your mum," Sirius stated without prompt, hoping the bit of knowledge would help ease Harry's qualms. "And she was _his_ first girlfriend."

Harry glanced up, lifting his head slightly. "Really?"

"Yes, really," the man affirmed.

"Oh."

Pushing himself up on his elbow, Harry pressed his hand into the circle, the wet sand sloshing between his fingers.

"There's no set age to have a girlfriend, Harry," Sirius assured him. "Fourteen is younger than you think."

"It sounds older than thirteen, doesn't it…" the boy commented, rinsing off his sandy hand as the water rushed up and over his torso.

"Yes," the man replied, a slight amount of sadness in his smile as he swept Harry's wet fringe aside with gritty fingertips. "It does."

A broken sea shell drifted lightly onto the sand by Harry's knee and remained.

* * *

Harry's swimming trunks had dried much more quickly than he thought they would as he sat on the warm sand eating his third slab of bread, butter and jam that Sirius had allowed him to pack for lunch.

Licking a small amount of strawberry jam from his thumb, Harry glanced over at Sirius, who had finished his own lunch and was now taking long drinks of water from a metal thermos.

"Are we really going to your old house this weekend, Sirius?" Harry wanted to know as he swallowed the last bit of bread in his mouth.

The man nodded and recapped his thermos before placing it to rest on the old, gingham quilt. "I may ask Remus to come, too. Do you mind?"

Harry thought about this for a moment. No, he certainly didn't mind. Besides Remus dropping off his new bathing suit last night, Harry hadn't seen much of him lately. But Sirius hadn't mentioned anything more about Grimmauld Place since he'd first spoke of it yesterday afternoon, and Harry couldn't help but wonder whether or not his godfather truly wanted to visit. Or was he simply feeling guilty over leaving Harry at the Dursleys for so many years and felt as if this were a peace-offering? Either way, visiting Sirius's childhood home had definitely sparked Harry's interest. But it worried him as well….especially since his godfather had mentioned that visiting _his_ parents' house was _only fair_ after his exposure to the Dursleys.

How much did they have in common with their pasts?

"No, I don't mind," Harry answered, reaching for another slice of bread, his eyes fluttering in surprise when Sirius thrust the other thermos in his hand instead.

"Here…" Sirius began, jiggling the thermos. "Drink some water instead. One more slice of bread and you're going to sink to the bottom of the sea."

Harry frowned in amused aggravation, but lifted the thermos to his lips anyway. His voice echoed hollowly around the metal as he spoke. "I'm really hungry…"

"It's being in the salt water," Sirius explained, relaxing back onto his elbows for the second time that day. He stretched the blanket out and gestured for Harry to scoot over onto it. "It gives you an appetite. Don't ask me why, though…"

Swiping the back of his hand across his mouth, Harry hauled himself up and moved over a few inches, settling closer to his godfather, settling cross-legged once more. "Is this the bay you came to when you were little?"

Sirius reached over and held out his hand for Harry's thermos. As the boy handed it to him, Sirius set it closer to his own so it would spill. "No," he replied. "I lived in London until I was sixteen, and my parents never took us to the seaside…I don't think they did, anyway."

Suddenly, Harry felt his cheeks warm with undisclosed embarrassment. He hadn't meant to pry. "Sorry," he mumbled quickly, rubbing at a few stray grains of sand on his ankle. "I was just wondering…"

"You don't have to apologize, Bub," Sirius assured him, tugging on his elbow.

Harry glanced up gingerly. But the warm expression on Sirius's face slowly began to melt the instant ice that formed in his stomach.

"I haven't told you much about my parents, because they weren't the best of people," his godfather said gently. "I hadn't wanted to depress you. You've got enough to worry about…"

"You don't have to, Sirius—"

"No, I really do," the man contradicted, nodding his head. "I told you it was only fair that you learned about what my life was like when I was young, didn't I?" Strangely, Sirius was still smiling slightly, and it was puzzling. "It's all right, Harry."

He didn't say anything. He didn't know _what _to say.

"Your grandparents took your dad and me to the seaside when I stayed with them during part of the summer each year," Sirius began, brushing back the strands of hair that kept blowing into his face. "They were very special to me. And I hate that you didn't know them."

Harry tucked his fingers underneath his thighs, squinting at his godfather through damp fringe. "So do I…"

And as they sat, wind ruffling their hair and rippling the green-blue water, Harry tried not to feel guilty as he listened to Sirius willingly rip open the seams of his past.

TBC...

* * *

The next chapter will include a flashback from Sirius's childhood at Grimmauld Place. So I suppose the whole 'Seaside' thing is a two-parter. I really hope you enjoyed this one. I was feeling very Judy Blume-ish. lol. Not a ton of action, but I consider this one of those important emotional chapters...

Thanks again for sticking with this story even though my updates aren't as frequent as I'd like them to be. You all are awesome :)

* * *


	24. Chapter 24

**Summer, 1972**

_Sirius ran up the wooden staircase to his bedroom at Number 12 Grimmauld Place so quickly that the balls of his stocking-clad feet pounded throughout the house. _

_His mother screeched at him from the kitchen, but he ignored her, just as he'd done last summer when he'd arrived home after his first year at Hogwarts. Ever since Sirius had been sorted into Gryffindor, it was as if he'd become the family's scapegoat. Even his ten year old brother, Regulus, had begun pestering him more than usual, and the little wanker always reveled in the unquestionable support he received from his parents when he'd flailed down to the first floor, whining over an argument he'd had with his older sibling. _

_But now, as Sirius plodded through the gloomy corridor past Regulus's bedroom to his own, he made sure to clout his curly-headed brother at the temple, sending the dark locks askew, and knocking his scrawny body back over the threshold. _

"_Ow! You bloody arsehole!" his little brother gustily complained as he clutched the side of his head and flashed Sirius a stormy scowl. _

_Sirius spun around, brushing back his own wavy, black hair as he backed up towards his room, smirking in triumph. "Better quicken those reflexes, then, shouldn't you?" _

"_SIRIUS!" __His mother's squall wafted up the stairs, causing the twelve-year-old's jollity to leak right out of him. _

_He glanced fleetingly at Regulus, long enough to catch the haughty sparkle of victory in his brother's watery, blue eyes. He stuck his tongue out at Sirius before slamming the door, the following crunch of bedsprings a tell-tale sign that the small boy had most likely burst into silent tears as soon as his tongue was back in his mouth. _

_Ever since the Christmas hols, Sirius had noticed his little brother trying desperately to stifle his tears when they threatened to crumple his face, especially in the midst of one of their daily squabbles._

_As Sirius gazed for an instant at the closed door, his stomach twinged. His baby brother was a monumental pain in the arse, but Sirius never enjoyed making him cry. _

_Maybe he'd hit his brother too hard this time..._

_His mother screamed for him again, and reluctantly obeying, Sirius dragged his feet to the top of the steps, rubbing his thumb over the tingling patch of skin on his palm._

_Leaning his hip against the banister, he tossed his head to get the hair out of his eyes before gazing down at the furious form of Walburga Black. Her blood-red, velvet robes cinched her waist, the color matching the circles of rouge plastered high on her cheeks. As usual, her gray-streaked hair was pulled taut against her scalp in complicated swirls. To most, Walburga Black was a woman to be respected, especially in pureblood society. But to Sirius, just standing in front of his mother often made his insides feel slimy. _

"_What?" the boy asked, keeping his voice casual, though his palms were beginning to glaze over with sticky sweat. _

_His mother ground her knuckles into her hips as she glared at her oldest son in disdain. "Don't you dare speak to me in such a common way, Sirius Black! You've been insolent ever since you stepped off of that train, and I won't have it… you and your shifty, Gryffindor mannerisms. An outright shame, it is!" _

_Her wailing voice grated on Sirius's nerves like a knife against a whetstone, but the words stung. _

_His face instantly heated as he clenched his slippery hands into fists. But he swallowed his retort. His mother craved retaliation. And he wasn't about to fuel the fire. At least not yet…_

"_You called my name," Sirius stated. He cleared his gritty throat softly. "I'm just seeing what you want."_

_Stabbing a claw-like fingernail into the air, Walburga's eyes narrowed into slits. "You know very well why you were summoned. And if you continue to torment your brother this summer, I'll have your father take out the cane each time you do," she warned. _

"_It's not like he's ever here…" Sirius muttered, gazing at the dull, metallic-scrolled wallpaper beside his mother's head so he wouldn't have to look at her. _

_The threat of a thrashing didn't stir up his nerves, as it never happened. When his father wasn't working at the Ministry, he was in the sitting room with a glass of brandy and a cigar. And on those after-work occasions, Sirius and Regulus had already been asleep for hours. His mother sometimes shot a stinging hex towards his legs or backside, but she missed nearly every time…and never cared to try again. _

"_No matter," the woman retorted airily, "he'll retrieve it for my use, and I'm always here, am I not?"_

Unfortunately…_ Sirius thought, resting the side of his head against the wall as he continued avoiding eye-contact. _

"_Reg's the one who starts everything," the boy mumbled, even though he knew that his weak ploy for justice would be squashed like a beetle. _

"_You're the eldest," Walburga said simply, throwing her hands up in an apathetic fashion. "Grow a backbone, you impossible boy. If I'm not mistaken, you Gryffindors pride yourselves on being valiant and stubborn, do you not?" _

_The words were sneering and purposefully insulting. _

_But Sirius only offered his mother a half-smile and a shrug, making it abysmally clear that he took her insult as a compliment. "Yeah, what of it?" _

_Her dagger point of a fingernail jabbed the air once again. "One more cheeky remark, and I'll hex your mouth shut…before throwing you out into the streets of London." _

"_Fine," Sirius croaked, mingled emotions of anger and hurt eddying in his chest. He pushed himself away from the wall with his shoulder. "You don't want me here anyway, since I'm such a bloody disappointment. Throw me out, and see if I give a rat's arse!" _

_He turned and strolled towards his bedroom, breathing shallowly from the rage that had suddenly consumed him. "It's not like I don't have anywhere to go…" _

_Regulus was peeking through the thin crack in his bedroom door, but Sirius ignored him, slamming his own door hatefully the instant he cleared the corridor. _

_His throat ached as he stood with his hands laced together at the top of his head, breathing deeply as he attempted to calm himself. _

_God, he hated his mother. And his drunken, work-obsessed father. And Regulus—well, today, he did… Why couldn't he have parents like James'? Sirius had only been home for ten minutes, and already he was smarting from the brunt of his mothers loathing and rejection. _

_James had been embarrassed when his father kissed the top of his head as the man squeezed him into an embrace after they'd emerged onto Platform 9 ¾. _

_But Sirius had ached with jealousy. _

_All of a sudden, quick, pounding footsteps echoed down the corridor, gradually increasing in volume. Spinning around, Sirius took a few steps backwards until his knee-hollows banged into the mattress. _

_His mother. _

_Throwing the door open, Walburga advanced on her son, barely giving him a second to react. The rouge on her cheeks dulled now in contrast to the crimson tingeing her whole face._

_Sirius plopped down on his bed, startled and void of resistance. _

_He tried to jerk back as he caught sight of the red-painted spikes darting towards his face, but his mother was swift, and she caught his cheeks on the first try. _

_She squeezed his face forcefully. And Sirius could feel her nails digging into the skin over his jaw and near his earlobes. Pulling away only made the pain flare. _

_His mother glowered down at him, clamping her fingers tighter as she spoke in a rasping whisper. _

"_How dare you? We've given you everything since the day you were born, and you repay me with nothing but your disgusting impudence." _

_Sirius could feel her breath on his face. He tried once more to pull back and then gave up. "You're hurting me, mum…" Sirius pleaded, his voice thin and tight. _

"_And you're killing me with your blood-traitor ways," Walburga spat, nearly tossing his head away from her as she released his cheeks. "You want to leave this house? Well, do you?"_

_Sirius didn't respond._

"_You want to spend the summer with your precious Potters? Go, then. Quite a relief, I say!"_

_The tears welled up instantly as the boy's throat swelled to bursting. But he only clutched his comforter in his fists and stared at the woman who hated him. Who birthed him and who hated him. _

_Lips twisted in rage, his mother turned on her heel to flee. "You're not to leave this room until your father returns from the Ministry," she commanded, barely glancing over her shoulder as she suddenly changed her mind. _

_She closed the door nonchalantly, the soft click resounding against the pounding in Sirius's forehead. It was as if the impulsive idea of an impending whipping for her son had mellowed her…cleared her thoughts. Perhaps comforted her…_

_Eyes still fixed on the dark, ingrained wood, Sirius didn't even realize he was crying until he felt the hot, wetness on his cheeks. Realization made the tears flow faster. And he allowed himself to wallow in self-pity for a good few minutes, stopping up his runny nose as best as he could with the cuffs of his robes. He sat quietly, gulping with the tears and repressed sobs until he heard his door creak open the tiniest bit. _

_Scraping his sleeves across his cheeks and eyes, Sirius immediately sprang up and crouched at the foot of his bed, straining his shoulder as he reached underneath for his old, canvas duffle bag. _

"_Sirius?" his brother whispered from behind him, tip-toeing carefully forward and standing next to the older boy as he unfastened his duffle. "Where're you going?"_

"_Get out of here," Sirius said, his voice stuffy and thick. _

"_Did mummy give you a smacking?" Regulus wondered, fingering the open flap of canvas. _

"_She's never smacked me in my life, stupid," Sirius retorted, absently picking out small bits of paper and rubbish from the inside corners of his satchel. _

"_You're crying."_

_Sirius turned sharply, ready to split the prat's head open if needed._

_His brother flinched, his face dimpling as it scrunched. His own blue eyes were red-rimmed, the bottom lids puffy and shiny. _

_Sirius swallowed, his stomach twisting again. "So're you," he observed quietly. _

_Bowing his head, Regulus sniffled and wiggled his nose quickly as if to relief an itch. "You hurt me."_

_Pausing, Sirius licked his lips, salty from dried tears. "I didn't give you a bump, did I?" He reached over and parted the soft, black curls at his brother's temple, checking for injury. _

_Regulus tilted his head, submitting to the gesture but still staring at his toes. He shook his head. _

_Sirius dropped his hand, turning back to his duffle. He felt worse. "Sorry, Reg," the twelve-year-old muttered. _

_Regulus didn't say anything; instead, he climbed up on Sirius's bed and sat cross-legged, watching his brother. _

_But Sirius had ceased pretending to pack. He stared back at the smaller boy perched on his bed. _

"_You're not gonna leave me here all summer, are you?" Regulus asked, picking at a small patch on the quilt. "I'll be bored. You've already been gone all year…"_

_Sirius propped his seat on the edge of the bed and worried his own patch. "Why should I stay? You've been acting like a real arse lately," the boy scowled. "And you nark on me every five minutes for crap I don't even do…"_

"_No, I don't," Regulus argued._

"_Yes, you do."_

"_I don't mean to…"_

"_Well, stop," Sirius told him, his voice edged with irritation. He scratched at his itchy, tear-stained cheek, gazing at his brother's wavy, slanted fringe in order to avoid another glimpse of the splotchy-red skin that edged Regulus' eyes._

_After a moment, Sirius exhaled heavily, knocking his duffle to the floor with a fist. "Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere."_

Yet_, he thought. _

* * *

**July 23, 1994**

Listening to his godfather's story, Harry had nestled his toes so deep in the sand that his feet were nearly swallowed in the golden grit. He hugged his knees to his chest as he rubbed his palms over the goosebumps spattered along his upper arms.

Sirius lay rather calmly on his side, propped up by his elbow. He reached over and took hold of his metal canister, gulping a few mouthfuls of the cool water.

As Harry watched him, he tried to imagine Sirius as a boy getting hollered at by his vulture of a mother. He hadn't realized that his godfather had a brother. And it wasn't difficult to sense that Regulus was valued over Sirius.

_Kind of like Dudley… _the boy thought.

Shivering a bit, Harry waited until Sirius had set down his thermos.

"If your mum was always cross and your brother was such a prat, how come you stayed?" Harry asked quietly, wiggling his toes in the soft, cool sand. "My grandparents would have taken you in, I bet…"

"I was only twelve," Sirius replied, smiling slightly as he raked his fingertips across the sand that edged the blanket. "When you're young, you say a great deal of things that you don't necessarily mean."

Harry was confused. "You didn't want to leave?"

"Well, yes…and no," the man tried his best to explain. "I know it doesn't make much sense. She and I had our share of rows when I was twelve…and thirteen as well. But my mother only became completely intolerable when I was older than you are now…"

"Why?"

"Oh…" Sirius began thoughtfully, shrugging. "I don't know. I think it was mainly because I made friends with so many people that weren't in Slytherin."

"But what about your dad?" Harry continued, gripping his knees more tightly in the crooks of his elbows. "Did he really come up and cane you that night when he got home? Was your mum serious about telling him?"

A new wave of goosebumps prickled on Harry's belly and legs at the thought. Even Vernon had never threatened him with such a thing.

"No," Sirius responded absently. He frowned in amusement when he caught a glimpse of his godson's buried feet. "He never caned me. He usually just told my mum to let me be. He didn't really care what I did as long as he didn't have to see me."

Reaching over, Sirius grasped one of Harry's ankles and plucked it slowly out of the dense sand. A sheet of pale glitter trickled down either side of the boy's foot before Sirius set it down

Still staring at his godfather, Harry slipped his other foot out of the sand to rest near the one Sirius had rescued. His stomach twisted with unease over Sirius's casual detachment as he spoke about his parents. And his mother's threats... After all, Sirius had been made to wait too, and he'd even _admitted_ to Harry that waiting up in his room for a thrashing that would never come would cause _him_ sleeplessness too…

But Harry didn't want to press the matter. He knew exactly how vulnerable it made him feel to uncork painful memories. Maybe enough years had passed that Sirius was able to discuss his parents as if he were bantering about the weather. Or maybe living with the Potters had helped him forget, helped him reinvent—had given him a glimpse of normalcy. Just as living with Sirius was helping Harry draw the curtain over everything he wished would just disappear…

The sun sauntered out from behind the streaks of clouds, and Harry's back and neck were suddenly bathed in heat, effectively soothing his chilled gooseflesh.

Sirius's pleasant expression suddenly plummeted as he watched Harry trail his own hands up and down his arms. "You're not cold, are you?"

Harry shook his head.

Lifting an eyebrow, Sirius flashed his godson a skeptical look. "You're not _lying_…are you?"

"I'm _not_," Harry insisted. He grabbed one of Sirius's hands and placed the back of his godfather's fingers against his own arm. "See? Anyway, it's summer, Sirius."

"Way to state the obvious…" Reaching for his thermos again, Sirius took another sip of his water, winking at Harry over the metal rim.

Rolling his eyes, Harry smirked back at him. He waited for Sirius to finish drinking before speaking again. "So how long did you have to stay at Grimmauld Place before you went to my dad's that summer?" The boy curled his toes in the sand, hoping he wasn't asking too many questions.

"Well—" Sirius began but was promptly cut off by the light echo of voices echoing from behind them, slicing through the static-like resonance of the waves.

Harry whirled his torso around while Sirius rose up a bit on his elbow, glancing over his shoulder.

"This is a _muggle_ beach?" Harry whispered hoarsely, squinting at the vague image of a woman and boy trudging through the sand.

"There's no such thing as a magical beach, you nutter…"

Harry stiffened. "But I thought—" the boy stuttered. "I mean, won't they know we're—"

"It's all right, Bub," Sirius interrupted, the calm reassurance in his voice relaxing Harry as he continued to stare at the flouncing couple. "We're in a bit of a remote area, but there was always a possibility of company. We look like muggles. They won't know the difference."

Shifting his eyes back over to their spread-out picnic and blanket, Harry quickly perused Sirius's attire and silently agreed. His godfather was wearing a pair of baggy, gray trousers rolled up at the ankle and a loose, button-down shirt. Both Harry and Sirius were sprinkled with sand. Yes, they definitely looked like average muggles.

The brown-haired woman and lanky boy were advancing on them, and although she was smiling broadly as she spoke to her fidgety son, Harry was having a difficult time predicting whether or not she was going to speak to them.

But as she neared and caught sight of Harry and Sirius, she simply smiled and nodded. "Hello," the woman greeted warmly before branching out a ways with her basket and blanket.

As Sirius held up his hand in a casual greeting, Harry thought he saw the woman's cheeks redden slightly as she beckoned to her son, who had stilled with his feet planted in the sand, cocking his head and staring at Harry.

Glancing back, Harry met Sirius's eyes for a brief second. His godfather flashed him an odd, wide-eyed expression. It only took Harry an instant to realize that Sirius thought the woman good-looking. He spun around to look her over one more time but got an eye-full of her son instead. He'd obviously inched closer when Harry'd had his back turned.

"Hey," the skinny, tanned kid greeted him. His dirty-blond hair was sleek and flat against his head; his ears stuck out and the tip of his nose turned up a bit.

"Hi," Harry answered, palming the sand for support as he shielded his eyes with the other hand and gazed up at the boy.

"What's your name?"

Harry twisted around toward Sirius once again, but his godfather was busy packing up the jars and empty containers in the large whicker basket. He glanced back at the kid who was still ogling him expectantly.

"Harry," he said finally. _If this kid's annoying, I'll never forgive you, Sirius_, Harry thought in slight frustration. "What's your name?"

The boy was kicking the sand with his bare toes, flicking Harry's legs with bits of grit. "Liam," he replied. "Are you eleven?"

Harry tried his hardest to swallow his frustration over being identified as an eleven year old. "No, I'm _thirteen_," he muttered, emphasizing the number with a moping twitch of his nose.

"Oh," Liam responded. "You're older than me, then. I'm twelve."

"Hmmm," Harry grunted in a non-committal way.

"Is that your dad?"

Nearly choking on his tongue, Harry stared at the kid. "Huh?"

"Your dad. Behind you," Liam clarified, nodding over Harry's shoulder.

Spinning around for the third time, Harry caught Sirius's eye, silently begging for aide in such an awkward situation. But Sirius only winked at him again and went back to capping his thermos.

"Erm…" Harry stammered, turning back around slowly to face Liam who now appeared to be nibbling on the insides of his cheeks. "Yeah," the boy finally said, feeling his face warm over from an odd mixture of bashful pride. "He's my dad."

"Can he come and play?" Liam asked over Harry's shoulder, nodding his head once as he addressed the man he now considered to be the other boy's father.

"If he wants to," Sirius responded, poking Harry twice, lightly, right below his ribs. "You want to?"

Harry craned his neck around. "Er… I guess so. What are you gonna do?"

"Nap." Sirius smiled at his godson, the man's face completely washed over with poorly-hidden glee.

"All right." Harry shrugged, pushing his hands against the sand-splotched blanket as Liam whooped and jogged towards his own blanket.

"Hey," Sirius called out softly, crooking a beckoning finger before Harry could spring away from him.

The boy crouched back down immediately. "Yeah?" he whispered back.

"Be good," his godfather advised him in a low voice, narrowing his brows and pointing a finger close to the boy's chest.

Harry sat back on a heel, draping his arm across the kneecap that was poking toward his chin. He nearly huffed in mild resentment. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't want to find you holding his head under the water or anything…"

"I'm not gonna _drown_ him, Sirius!" his godson insisted, flipping his head around quickly to steal a fleeting glance at Liam, who was sulking and squirming impatiently while his mother smeared suntan lotion on his shoulders and back.

When Harry whipped back around, he could tell Sirius was trying his hardest not to laugh. "You looked like you wanted to smash that kid's face in the sand."

"I wouldn't do that…"

A whiny, blustery complaint drifted over from the nearby blanket.

"Sure you wouldn't," Sirius remarked dryly as a small snicker rippled through his throat.

Harry sighed through his nose in annoyance.

"Oh….hey, one more thing," the man said, catching a hold of his godson's wrist before he sprang up to flee. Sirius pulled him close. "If it's uncomfortable for you to refer to me as your dad, you don't have to, you know. Don't feel like you have to do it for my sake or anything," he murmured. "You're still my kid, no matter what you call me. You know that, right?" He dragged his shortened nails through his godson's fringe, pressing his lips together as the stiff, salt-sheathed hair stood at attention.

Pressing the spikes back down with a quick sweep of his palm, Harry offered his godfather a half-smile. "Yeah, I know. But it doesn't make me feel funny," the boy asserted, hoisting himself up and dusting off the final specks of sand from his fingers. "I wanted to."

TBC…

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the delay. This week has kicked my butt seven times over. Your reviews have been so encouraging. Thank you :) And a special thank you to luinrina who kindly helped me out with the date corrections.

I'm very curious (and a bit nervous) to find out what you think of the opening scene. It's my first attempt at young!Sirius, and I wanted to present him as a character with depth. I have planned a couple more flashbacks, including scenes from the Potters during the summer, so I'm crossing my fingers that you liked this first one. Thanks again, guys!


	25. Chapter 25

Harry swore under his breath as he dragged the water-logged raft to the shore, glaring at Liam who had splashed ahead toward his sand-speckled blanket and plunked down on his knees.

In all honesty, he'd had a good time riding the waves with Liam, their stomachs sticking to the warm, wet plastic of the raft until a surge of salt water rushed toward them, spraying their faces and thrusting them into the air. Then the raft would dip and slide, rocking both boys back and forth while Harry's limbs tingled deliciously with adrenalin.

He knew he'd been grinning stupidly like a five-year-old at a circus, but unlike Liam, Harry had graciously stifled his hoots of elation.

For the first ten minutes, Sirius had alternated watching the boys play and sneaking quick glances at the swimsuit-clad brunette to his right. But after a while, Liam's mother settled with her nose in a thick novel, and Sirius succumbed to his promised nap, shoving part of a wadded towel underneath his head and shielding his eyes with a loose corner.

As Harry plodded out of the frothy, squishy sand into the dryness, he cupped his hand over the rims of his glasses and glanced toward his godfather.

Face half-hidden by the towel and fingers threaded together against his stomach, Sirius appeared to be fast asleep on the wrinkled blanket, his right elbow perched on top of the picnic basket.

Harry combed his own fingers through his chilled and dripping hair, shaking his flattened palm against his scalp as he attempted to transform the sopping wetness into dampness. Casting a final glance toward his slumbering godfather, Harry sighed and plodded over toward Liam's blanket, tossing the dripping raft far enough away from the blanket so the kid's mother wouldn't get flicked with water.

Liam had been bossy and annoying as hell at times, but he'd invited Harry to play—_and _allowed him to share the raft. Harry supposed that was nice of him.

"C'mere, Harry!" Liam commanded, even as his new friend dragged his feet forward. The pug-nosed boy rose up on his knees as he reached over and rifled through their small, blue and white cooler.

Eyes still focused intently on the next-to-last page of chapter six, the woman extended a hand and casually caught her kid around the upper arm before he toppled into her. Liam dangled for an instant, steadied himself with his fingertips, and then shrugged out of his mother's grasp. His upper lip twitched as he flashed the woman an irritated scowl, but as Harry neared the gingham blanket, Liam quickly pulled out two glass bottles of dark soda and held one out to him.

He grinned so vivaciously that Harry caught a glimpse of a crooked tooth.

"Here you go," Liam said as the soda pop slipped from his prune-like fingers.

Harry couldn't help but smile back at the little weasel. "Thanks," he replied, lowering his seat carefully on the slightly steep bank of cloth-covered sand. "What is it?"

The blond stared at him for a few seconds before giving his cap a hearty twist and a flick and sipping noisily at the bubbles. "Rootbeer…" Liam announced around a mouthful of foam.

"Oh," Harry said as he tilted his bottle a bit, the glass glinting in the sun. He'd had butterbeer before but never rootbeer. All of the sweets and sugary drinks at the Dursleys had always been reserved for Dudley and Vernon. Aunt Petunia had given him iced tea or milk sometimes, but never—

"Here," Liam huffed, launching forward and snatching Harry's bottle out of his hands, interrupting his thoughts. "You have to open it like _this_…"

"Liam, don't grab things," his mother admonished with a frown as she emerged, cloudy-eyed, from her novel, quickly folding over a corner of the page to mark her place.

Sinking back on his heels and wrinkling his forehead in a contrite way, Liam put forth a meager struggle as she took the bottle from his hands and handed it back to Harry, offering him a warm, apologetic smile as she did so.

"I didn't mean to, mum," Liam mumbled. Shifting his gaze toward Harry, the boy stuck his tongue the tip of his tongue and rolled his eyes in mocking cheekiness.

Harry tightened his lips to keep from laughing as he popped off his bottle cap; Liam's mother had definitely missed _that_ look, as she'd already plunged back into her book. He glanced over toward his still-incoherent godfather. Too bad Sirius never seemed to skirt over things like that…

"Are you and your dad from around here, Harry?" the woman asked as she flipped through several pages, most likely surveying the length of her next chapter.

Pausing mid-swig, Harry hurriedly swallowed his mouthful of soda, suppressing a wince as the carbonation burned the whole way down. "Sorry?" he nearly choked.

"Do you live close to the bay?" she repeated, her eyebrows peaked in interest.

Nestling his rootbeer between his knees, Harry swiped his hand across the back of his neck to get rid of the tickling dribbles of water. "Erm…" he began awkwardly, forcing himself to think at a furious pace.

_Sodding hell_, Harry thought, a small bout of panic tingling up his spine. _Do_ _we live close by?_ Sirius had mentioned that they'd apparated to the seaside in Scotland. Harry just wasn't exactly sure _which_ seaside.

"We live in Edinburgh," the boy finally muttered, figuring she'd be able to deduce the rest.

"Oh, yeah, that's pretty close," Liam chimed in before bringing the tiny glass rim up to his lips and gulping down a third of his soda.

"Yeah…" Harry echoed lamely. He and Sirius would definitely have to discuss the geography of this place. Sure, he'd learned about Scotland in primary school…not that he'd paid much attention. And Hogwarts was in Scotland. But Hermione was the only one who had taken Muggle Studies last year. None of Harry's classes had really covered much of anything outside the wizarding world.

During his summers in Surrey, Uncle Vernon had made up a load of rubbish about Harry attending a school for criminally insane boys over the school year, so most everyone left him alone. However, even though Harry was caught slightly off-guard by the woman's question, it felt wonderful to be able to tell a Muggle the truth for once.

"Just here on holiday, then?" Liam's mother piped up, sweeping her fingernails across her bobbed fringe and smiling again. She rested the spine of her book against the crevice of her drawn-up knees.

Harry nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

_A half-day's holiday? Sure, why not…_

"Your cheeks are a bit pink," the woman commented, expertly snapping the back of her fingers against the side of Liam's thigh in disapproval as he drained the last drops of his rootbeer and burped. "Did you wear sunscreen?"

"Who me?"

"Who else?" Liam interjected, short of breath from gulping. He rubbed his knuckles over the stinging spot on his thigh. "Mum put so much on _me_, I'll be covered for days…"

At the playful glare he received, Liam rolled away from his mum, landing belly-down in the sand in order to avoid another quick smack. Propped up on his elbows, he beamed naughtily in her direction.

Amused at the display, Harry didn't notice Sirius moving toward them until he saw Liam squint upwards to his right. "Hello," the twelve year old greeted.

"Hi," Sirius answered before holding his forearm in front of his mouth to stifle a gusty yawn. "Excuse me…"

Winking blearily at his godson, he crouched down when he got close and nodded politely toward the woman. Blushing a splotchy crimson, she snapped her book closed with a _thud _before dropping it onto the blanket_, _draped her arms across her torso, and introduced herself as Maggie.

Liam stretched out on the sand, absently creating arcs in the tiny grains with his fingertips as if his mother introduced herself to strangers on a daily basis. It only took Harry another minute of analyzing the woman's sudden flush to remember that Sirius was handsome.

He stared at his godfather until the man finally met his eyes, raising his brows slightly and smirking oddly at the look on Harry's face. "What? Are you about ready to go?"

"Oi!" Liam exclaimed, arching up from his sprawled out position on the sand and twisting around. "You lot can't go yet…" At the protest, his mother lifted her chin and ogled her son with a warning eye. "But they just got here, mum!" he argued more softly.

"It's nearly five," Sirius replied thoughtfully, gazing out at the rushing tide and resting an arm across his kneecap. "But I suppose you can play for another half-hour if you'd like."

Liam drew in a sharp breath of excitement, but Harry only shrugged.

"No, it's all right," he said quickly, raking a final glance over the two adults and big-eared, open-mouthed kid. "I'm kinda tired."

And Harry really _was_ telling the truth. His skin felt stiff with evaporated salt-water, and his eyes were beginning to burn at the corners.

"Yes, I'd imagine you are," his godfather acknowledged with a soft smile. "Riding the waves'll do that to you,"

"And you're also a bit sunburned, love," Maggie added, causing Sirius to frown slightly with worry that quickly melted into guilt. He grimaced as he perused his godson's light-pink shoulders and neck.

Inhaling sympathetically through clenched teeth, Sirius pressed the backs of his fingers gently against the heated skin of one of Harry's upper arms. "I knew we forgot something today. I'm sorry, Bub."

"It's okay," Harry assured him, shrugging again. Pushing himself up, he clamped his fingertips around the glass lip of his half-empty bottle of soda and lifted it as he stood. "I get burnt really easily."

He pulled down the legs of his swimming trunks with his free hand while thanking Liam's mum for the drink.

"You're welcome, Harry," she replied, hugging her book to her chest and flashing her teeth again. "It was nice meeting both of you."

Liam pouted a bit as he tucked his ankles underneath his thighs, cupping sand in his palm and watching as it slipped through his fingers. "Yeah," he mumbled. "See you."

"Bye, Liam." Harry gave the boy a weak smile as he moved over by Sirius, immediately eyeing his godfather with a distinct _look_ once their backs were turned.

No question about it: almost-fourteen was undeniably older than twelve.

* * *

Harry groaned as he slowly came into consciousness.

His entire torso ached with sunburn, and the ridged material of the sofa scalded his stomach every time he moved so much as a toe. Overly hot and feverish, Harry slowly kicked away the thin blanket that Sirius must have laid over his legs and waist after Harry'd fallen asleep nearly two hours ago.

Joints rusty and sore, Harry gingerly pushed his body away from the sofa, catching sight of his bright pink forearms in the process.

"Sirius?" he called out weakly. Every inch of skin felt like it had been pulled tight as a drum, and his cheeks pulsed with heat. Shuffling footsteps approached almost immediately, and Harry was relieved.

"How are you feeling—" Sirius began but nearly jolted back in surprise when he saw his lobster-skinned thirteen-year-old sitting up with his legs lazily folded on the cushion, his face haggard and miserable.

The blanket lay on the floor in a bunched heap.

"Bloody _hell_," the man breathed slowly, his whole being soaked with distress as he crouched down, gazing up sadly at the rosy mass of teenager in front of him.

"Do we have any lotion or anything?" the boy mumbled.

"Oh, kiddo, I'm _sorry_," Sirius drawled, patting Harry's knee through his rumpled swimming trunks. "That was stupid of me…I should've known better than to take you to the seaside without sunblock. I wasn't thinking. You feel awful, don't you…"

"I'm all right," Harry lied. His insides twinged with a hint of guilt over causing his godfather to look like this. "Isn't there a spell you can do?"

"I'm afraid not," the man soberly admitted. "Or if there _is_ a spell, I'm not aware of it... Magical healing has never been my thing."

Painful goosebumps suddenly attacked Harry's flaming skin, and he almost groaned again. He stifled it for Sirius' sake. "It's not a big deal…" Harry mumbled.

"Yes, it is," Sirius replied quickly, standing up. "Here, Bub." He held out his palms to help Harry pry himself off of the cushion. "Go upstairs and run yourself a bath—not too hot—just a warm one. Will you do that for me?"

"Yeah," Harry said, rotating his shoulders carefully as he stood, stiffly making his way through the kitchen.

"I'll be up in a minute with something for your bathwater, all right?" Sirius called out after his hobbling kid. He guiltily clutched a handful of wavy hair at the top of his head.

"All right…"

Sighing heavily, Sirius smoothed his palm all the way back to his neck, internally cursing himself as he trudged into the kitchen.

* * *

Simultaneously hot and shivery, Harry gawked at the image of himself as he stood in front of his bathroom mirror. He couldn't believe it; he was almost as red as one of Aunt Petunia's tomatoes.

Well, maybe not quite, but he was certain his scorched skin couldn't tell the difference.

Twisting around, Harry tugged down the waistband of his bathing suit, exposing a small patch of pale skin at the top of his rear. The two colors stood out in stark contrast…like a candy cane.

"Damn…" the boy mumbled as he allowed his waistband to delicately contract before replacing it.

Water continued to gush from the faucet into the half-filled tub. Just as he sauntered over to switch off the steady, roaring stream, a soft knock sounded at the door.

"I'm coming in," Sirius warned him, his voice slightly muffled from the other side. "Have you got a towel on?"

"No, my trunks…"

"That works," his godfather replied, letting himself in and leaving the door cracked behind him.

In his hand he held a thick plastic bottle full of some sort of clear liquid. He continued to gaze repentantly at his godson as he unscrewed the small white cap from the top. Leaning over a bit, Sirius tipped the bottle and poured a fair amount among the still water, submerging his hand and swirling the concoction around.

"What is that?" Harry wondered, his nose instantly crinkling as the foul-smelling mixture wafted up from the tub.

Sirius straightened up slowly, recapping the bottle and tucking it under his arm. "It'll take the some of the burn out."

Harry stared suspiciously at the calm and waiting water. He sniffed once again and then pulled his head back. "Ugh… It smells like…"

Another tentative sniff.

"…Dudley's _feet_," the boy concluded, glancing up at his godfather in horror. "It stinks, Sirius. What _is_ that?"

The man cleared his throat mirthfully, deliberately averting his eyes from the condemning green as he set the bottle down on the far side of the sink. "Vinegar," Sirius finally mumbled.

"_Vinegar_?" Harry repeated hoarsely, flipping his head back toward the offending liquid. "_That's _supposed to take the burn out. Are you _sure_?"

"It does," Sirius promised with the tiniest of chuckles. "You'll feel much better after you soak…believe me. And the smell will fade. I promise."

Harry frowned toward the tub, but in all honesty, his shoulders, back and stomach ached and throbbed every time he shifted. And he knew Sirius wouldn't lie to him.

"Okay," Harry sighed, reaching down and testing the temperature of the water. It felt almost twice as warm on the back of his hand as it did on his palm. But at least he'd drawn a cool enough bath to keep from scalding himself.

"I'm going to Floo call Remus and see if he's got anything better," Sirius informed him as he inched toward the door. "But for now, this'll help." He winked fondly at the crimson-coated boy. "I realize that you're fried to a crisp…But I won't steer you wrong twice."

Harry smiled half-heartedly at his godfather as he slipped out of the bathroom.

"Hop in."

"I will," Harry assured him as the handle clicked shut.

Peering forlornly one last time into the water, Harry slipped out of his trunks, taking care not to aggravate the sunburn that blanketed the tops of his feet. Kicking his shorts off to the side, he bravely stepped into the transparent, odious brew.

* * *

The chime that had recently indicated the half-hour resonated hollowly throughout the dimly-lit living room of Sirius' cabin, meshing among the hushed conversation that had taken place over the past several minutes.

"You've been left with very little fond memories of that place, Padfoot," Remus spoke softly as he sat across from Sirius in the large armchair stationed in the corner. "You mustn't feel obligated to revisit such a dismal part of your childhood, you know…"

"I don't feel obligated," Sirius murmured back, glancing over at a now comfortable Harry who had sprawled back on the sofa an hour ago and was presently breathing deep, steady breaths, his pale-pink arm dangling limply off of the cushion.

It was nearly midnight, and the salve Remus had provided had thankfully worked wonders on the boy's sunburned skin after a very short while, especially after the vinegar had taken the edge off of the sting.

And Sirius' guilt over contributing to Harry's roasted hide seemed to have gradually faded in accordance with the smarting blush.

However, his best friend's concern over the looming excursion to London had stirred up some uneasy, unidentified emotion in Sirius. Perhaps he'd acted on a whim—appeared much more casual in front of Harry than he actually felt as he spoke of Regulus and his parents this afternoon.

He knew that part of him had suggested the visit for Harry's sake. But another portion of his consciousness simply wanted to step back into his childhood home, perhaps in an attempt to seal the gaping hole in his soul that had been so feebly renovated following his brother's death. Regulus had passed away at eighteen years of age. Only four years older than Harry was now.

Something about that particular realization had begun to rub his conscience raw.

Clearing his throat lightly, Sirius rested his forehead against his palm as he shifted his eyes towards Remus. "I never said goodbye to my brother before I ran away to James' house that summer when I was sixteen. Did you know that?" He spoke in a light, peculiar voice, as if he was almost confused.

Studying his friend with tender solemnity, Remus shook his head. "No, I wasn't aware."

Sirius barely nodded in recognition, remaining silent and thoughtful.

"Regulus made his own choices, Sirius," Remus asserted, though he kept his voice cautious and low. "He was obviously considered old enough to join the Death Eaters."

"I know," Sirius responded without hesitation. Folding his fingers into a fist, he moved it away from his forehead to support his chin with a few knuckles. "I reckoned with that a long time ago."

Remus didn't respond. Rather, he narrowed his eyes slightly as he tilted his head against the cushion behind, quietly struggling to come his own understanding.

Inclining his brows, Sirius softened his deep, inquisitive expression when he noticed his friend's unspoken trepidation. "You don't think it'll do Harry any damage to take him to London, do you?"

Remus relaxed the taut muscles around his eyes and smiled softly. "As long as he's with you, he'll be fine. And I mean that literally. I wouldn't let him go wandering off in that house with all that you've told me about it…"

Sirius flicked a fond gaze toward his godson once more. "He won't wander. He knows better."

"Yes, he does now…"

Turning his attention back to Remus, Sirius' lips curved into a subtle smile. "So you'll go with us, then?"

Crossing his legs, Remus folded his hands and rested them against the lap of his faded trousers. "If you think it necessary that I come, then of course. I'd be happy to go to London with the two of you." Remus returned the smile, knowing deep down that he didn't really need his friend's affirmation.

Rather, Sirius desired _his_ strength. His and Harry's.

And without question, they would provide it.

* * *

Harry's eyes were closed, but he had been listening to the dull, hushed voices of Sirius and Remus for at least fifteen minutes.

The skin on his stomach, especially, still tingled from the cooling salve that Remus had given him. But the burn had almost vanished completely, and the lack of pain alone made Harry groggy. However, he'd forced his brain to remain conscious long enough to absorb his godfather's words.

Harry's arms had prickled with goosebumps again, but this time, they hadn't been caused by his sunburn.

Regulus had died when he was only eighteen.

And he'd been a Death Eater.

A _Death _Eater.

Feverishly pondering the weight of such a title, Harry drifted into a nimble slumber until he felt his godfather's hands slip underneath his arms and lift him off of the sofa, steadying him and pressing his cool wrists against Harry's cheeks a final time before guiding him through the kitchen and up the staircase to his bedroom.

TBC…

* * *

Thanks for all of the wonderful feedback, oh loyal readers :) I appreciate that you've all stuck around as this story progresses. Also, a humble thanks goes to ObsidianEmbrace for being the awesome previewer/editor that she is (graciously and swiftly correcting my notorious habit of skipping words).

I hope you enjoyed this one! The trip to Grimmauld Place will commence next chapter :)


	26. Chapter 26

_**Late July, 1972 **_

_The narrow corridor outside of Sirius' bedroom seemed almost murky with deep blue darkness. And although the tiny wisps of flame flickering within the smog-stained glass lanterns provided miniscule circles of illumination, Sirius had to blink his eyes for nearly half a minute before his vision adjusted. _

_His cheek had stung the entire time he'd spent shoving his canvas duffle full of robes, wrinkled underpants, and handfuls of mismatched socks. But Sirius had been too angry this time to surrender to the tears. _

_And Regulus hadn't done anything. He'd just sat on his bed and let his mother say all those awful, untrue things. Granted, biting his tongue would have saved Sirius from a smarting cheek, but he didn't care. _

_Walburga's burning words still crackled painfully in his chest; the mocking ridicule had hurt even worse than the slap. _

_Glancing back at his bedside clock, Sirius squinted hard at the face. His mother had given in and permitted him to leave for the Potters in the morning, abandoning her earlier notion of holding him hostage and destroying his happiness. _

_It was 12:04 a.m. _

_Most certainly morning. _

_Who gave a flying sod what his mum had in mind…_

_He would go through the Floo as quietly as possible and sleep on the Potters' sofa for the night. That way, he wouldn't wake anyone up and James' mum and dad wouldn't have to trouble themselves to find a bed or extra blankets. _

_Hoisting his bulging duffle up onto his shoulder, Sirius closed his bedroom door, taking care to ease the latch into its fissure. Tiptoeing around the corner, he stuck out his foot to feel past the top step of the staircase but nearly toppled back on his bum when he ran into a warm, solid chest. _

_The scent of stale pub food, gin, and cheap musk invaded his nostrils as large hands gripped him about the shoulders to steady him. Leaning down, Orion Black peered into his son's face with foggy eyes. The whiskery cheeks twitched as his brain waded through the muck of alcohol and fatigue. _

_Sirius stiffened his shoulders but didn't pull away. He was usually in bed when his father returned from the pub and had only run into him once or twice on his way to the bathroom. But his dad never became violent on those occasions—only passive—and Sirius wasn't afraid of him._

"_Reg, where are you off to?" Orion slurred, breathing thickly through his nose as he studied the startled, pale face of his son. _

_Sirius licked his lips awkwardly. "It's not Regulus, Dad, it's me," the twelve-year-old whispered. He tried his best to disregard the zinging burn that coursed through his throat at being mistaken for his baby brother. _

"_Sirius, then," his father corrected in a gruff voice, swaying back slightly on his step. Sirius' hands twitched as if to catch the man, but for some reason, Orion swiftly regained his composure and tightened his hold on his son's shoulders instead, guiding him off to the side a bit. "You should be in bed by now, shouldn't you?"_

_The inquiry held no authority. It was simply that—a question. _

_His father was rarely home when he and Regulus went to sleep. _

_Heart thudding, Sirius turned his face away as he searched for an explanation. His throat was growing so parched that his tonsils felt like small rocks lodged in his throat. But before he could come up with anything remotely logical, his father had released him. _

_Sirius wiggled his shoulder underneath the weight of his duffle once more before leaning his back against the wall. He watched, puzzled, as his father shuffled forward a few steps and suddenly lurched forward, stumbling over a huddled lump. _

"_What the ruddy hell…" Orion muttered under his breath as he reached down and scooped up the bundle, hauling a pajama-clad ten-year-old up by his arm. "You as well, I see?"_

_Dangling by their father's grasp, Regulus appeared rather ignorant of the fingers encircling his arm or even the pungent smell of booze and cigarette smoke clouding around the man above him. He stared at Sirius, his eyes flecked with worry as they passed over the duffle that was mostly hidden behind the small of Sirius' back. _

_Sirius clenched his teeth as he cast his brother a silent, pleading look. His underarms began to tingle with sweat. _

_It had been years since he and his little brother had been disciplined by their father, and even then Orion's efforts had been half-hearted. Sirius figured his dad wouldn't do anything. But he might wake up his mother. _

_And after what happened tonight, Sirius was certain she'd find a reason to punish him. _

_His father leaned over and spoke softly in Regulus' ear, but the younger boy continued to stare at Sirius' torso, the corners of his eyes creased with apprehension. _

"…_need to be our good boy," he heard his father mutter to a listless and blithe Regulus before stretching his forearm across the little boy's chest and pulling him into a quick, backwards hug. "Back to bed, now," Orion concluded, planting a kiss against the back of the dark, pillow-flattened curls. Regulus ignored him, his eyes still burning into Sirius._

_Still watching, Sirius felt his throat constrict. His sinuses stung as he watched his father stumble down the corridor without saying goodnight. The blank pain in Sirius' stomach dominated any sort of relief he might have felt over his baby brother actually belting up for once. _

_His parents' bedroom door whined as it swung on its hinges before clicking closed in a quiet, practiced way. _

"_Sirius," his brother whispered, ripping his attention away from the silence down the hall. _

_Regulus clutched the twisted, iron knob of the banister with one hand and the hem of his pajama top with the other as he gazed his older brother, his blue eyes glossed over with evaporating bravado. _

"_Bugger off," Sirius rasped in a high, weak voice. The hand that held onto his shoulder strap buzzed with numbness and cold. But he didn't move. _

"_Please don't leave yet!" Regulus breathed desperately as his eyes flicked back and forth between Walburga's bedroom and Sirius. _

"_Mum told me I could-"_

"_I didn't know she would get so angry over it, and I didn't think she was gonna hit you…" Regulus continued, ignoring him. "I shouldn't've said anything about that Muggle poster. It slipped." The words spilled out fast and clumsy as the boy shook his head. "It was all my fault."_

_The insult Sirius had been constructing deflated immediately. "I'm the one who shot off at the mouth…it wasn't your fault…"_

"_Don't go, Sirius, we still have a whole month," Regulus begged. "And I've got school this autumn! I don't wanna ride on the train by myself."_

"_You won't." _

_The guilt creeping through Sirius' insides made him ill. _

"_Please!" Regulus whimpered in a final plea._

_Running his fingers through the wavy, tangled hair at his forehead, Sirius swung his duffle around, hugging it against his side as he fumbled with one of the flaps. He dipped his hand into the pocket and extracted his favorite, marble-sized snitch. _

_The wings fluttered as they were exposed to the cool, musty air of Number 12. Sirius held it out to his brother. _

_Swiping his fisted knuckles underneath his lids, Regulus took the snitch between his thumb and forefinger, allowing the tickling, feather-like wings to brush against the back of his hand. _

"_Make sure you keep practicing with it. You're loads better than I am," Sirius told him gruffly, hurrying down the stairs before Regulus could respond. _

_--_

_Sirius swore more fiercely than he would have liked as he collided with the hanging metal poker and shovel at the corner of the Potters' hearth. _

_Already, he'd mucked up the plan. _

_Still kneeling from his tumble, Sirius held his breath, his shin pulsing with pain from where he'd landed on the handle of the shovel. _

_Another few minutes of silence, and then a blue-orbited body came into view, wielding an illuminated wand. _

_Sirius had expected it. _

_Adjusting his spectacles with a pinch at the earpiece, Mr. Potter moved forward quickly. "Is that you, Sirius?"_

_The bright light gleaming from the end of the man's wand caused Sirius to squint up at him, his temples aching with pressure. For some reason, Sirius couldn't answer him. It was the simplest of questions, yet all he could do was gawk up at James' father in helplessness. _

"Nox_," Mr. Potter murmured, tapping his wand against the air. _

_The room went dark again but only for an instant. The man spoke an incantation into the shadows, and instantly, the lanterns on the wall and the logs behind Sirius burst into flame. _

_Squatting down, James' father reached out for him, his face heavily soaked with alarm. But Sirius pulled back. _

"_No," the boy croaked, huddling into himself even tighter. He felt like a fool, but he just knew that if anyone touched him, he'd explode. _

_His cheek was still a bit sore. He'd left his brother alone. His father had kissed Regulus on the head. But not him. _

_His mother hated him. His dad had wrinkled his nose at Sirius like he was foul and moldy. _

"_Come, now, none of that," Mr. Potter chided gently, trying once again, carefully. "What's happened, Sirius? Have you come from London?"_

"_No, don't!" Sirius screeched in a weak voice, his rationality completely punctured. He clutched handfuls of bunched, dusty robes at his knees and shrank back a bit more._

_But James' father was able to slip his hands underneath the stiff arms anyway. _

"_Dammit…" Sirius whimpered in a confused, throaty voice, straining to break free of the strong hold for the shortest of moments. But inevitably, he relented just as easily as he knew he would. _

_Defeated, he smashed his face into the front of the man's dressing gown as he was lifted and held against the firm chest like a toddler. He felt a sob expanding his chest and did nothing to stop it. He didn't care. His cry was low and muffled and hoarse against the warm fabric. He sounded like a foghorn, and he didn't care._

_Backing up with the twelve-year-old in his arms, James' father sat down carefully on the sofa, swinging Sirius' legs around to dangle over his lap. _

_A moment later, a pajama-clad James trudged groggily into the living room, maneuvering his glasses onto his nose, one-handed. He gasped in excitement, his eyes popping open, when he saw his best friend on the sofa. "Sir-"_

"_Shhh," the boy's father immediately shushed him, snapping his fingers in his son's direction while the other hand remained wrapped around the dark, sweaty head against his chest. _

_James' face fell as he sauntered forward, eyes frightened and focused on the heaving back. "What's wrong with Sirius, Dad?" he whispered, lowering himself onto the sofa as he continued to stare._

_Ashamed and miserable, Sirius wouldn't lift his face for anything. Not even when he felt a smaller hand against his shoulder, rubbing the same spot over and over again as if petting a cat. He never cried in front of James. Ever._

"_Have you got pajamas?" Mr. Potter asked from above Sirius' head. _

"_He can wear some of mine if he hasn't," James spoke up timidly. His voice was uncharacteristically high and juvenile as he continued to stroke the knobby shoulder. _

"_I've got him, Jamie," his father said, reaching out to run his knuckles along the sleep-warmed cheek. "We'll be up in a bit. You go climb in."_

_James squirmed on the sofa, preparing to protest, but his father only shook his head and pointed toward the staircase. _

"_He'll be all right," the man mouthed to his son, rocking back and forth slightly as Sirius sniffled into his dressing gown. _

_Reluctantly, James dragged himself toward the next room, knowing better than to disobey but taking care to glance over his shoulder every few steps to check up on his best mate. _

"_You're safe now," Mr. Potter murmured when James had disappeared up the staircase. He rubbed circles with his fingertips into the long, dark-brown curls at the base of the boy's head. _

_Sirius still felt wretched; his chest ached from sobbing and his face felt bloated and tight._

_But there was nothing left to do but believe him. _

* * *

_**July 25, 1994**_

Lazily sauntering into the kitchen just a few minutes before seven o'clock in the morning, Sirius rubbed the back of his stiff neck. It continued to pulse with the aftereffect of the nasty headache that had plagued him a few hours prior.

The soft light pouring into the corridor seemed orange and cheerful in contrast to the overcast, soot-colored sky of early morning.

As Sirius stepped over the threshold to the kitchen, sweeping the tangled hair out of his eyes with a flip of his fingers, he halted immediately at the sight of his godson perched on the round, wooden table, tongue snagged at the corner of his mouth in concentration as he snipped away at the short, protruding twigs of his Firebolt.

The head of his broomstick lay in Harry's lap, while the polished handle remained tucked under his armpit; the end clunked softly against the wall behind him as he groomed.

Sirius frowned at the dozens of tiny sticks littered about Harry's pajama bottoms and the surface underneath him.

"What do you think you're doing?" the man questioned in a muzzy voice, causing his godson to jerk up in surprise. The broom handle banged the wall forcefully enough to vibrate the miniature, framed portrait above it.

"Huh?" Harry choked out in surprise, his clippers petrified in mid-air like a bird's open beak.

Sirius continued to eye the boy with a pinched, disapproving look as he moved toward the counter. "You're on restriction until next Friday," he reminded him rather tersely. "Have you forgotten?" Resting his lower back against the edge of the countertop, Sirius balanced the points of his elbows against the flat surface.

Glancing down at his glossed and perfected Firebolt and back toward godfather, Harry's forehead slowly scrunched together, creating a perplexed crease above his nosepiece as he ran his thumb over the smooth wood of the handle.

"I haven't forgotten _anything_," the boy quietly retorted, a bit injured by Sirius' humorless tone. He stared down at his dangling, bare foot just so he could have something to focus on. "I couldn't get back to sleep, so I was fixing my broom up for when I'm allowed to fly it…"

"Did you ask?"

"Ask what?" Harry peeked up over his glasses.

"For permission to take your broom out of the cupboard…"

A long pause lingered among the tense atmosphere.

"Erm…no," the boy mumbled.

Sirius expelled a sharp breath, twisting his head toward the cloudy window and massaging the back of his neck. "Well, you should've asked me."

"Why are you so cross?" Harry shot back, his face darkening as he glared. "You _know_ I wouldn't've taken it outside…"

"That may not have been your intention, Harry-"

"It _wasn't_."

"Don't interrupt me."

"I _didn't_!"

Loose fragments of twig shook free of the broom head and drifted to the floor as Harry jostled it in his growing fury.

Sirius flashed his godson a pointed look of displeasure. "That's enough," he scolded, pushing off of the ledge with his back muscles. "You know better than to shout at me." He could clearly see Harry's jaw line palpitating as the boy ground his teeth together.

"But I didn't even _do_ anything and you're shouting at _me,_" Harry muttered, ducking his head and hastily reorganizing his grooming kit before zipping it up in three short tugs.

"I haven't shouted once…"

"Well, you're angry."

"I'm _not_," Sirius insisted, diluting his irritated edge as he took a step forward.

But Harry slid off the table before his godfather could reach him, folding his fingers around his broom service kit and holding it close to his debris-flecked chest.

"Here," the boy said with a grumble, shoving his Firebolt at Sirius and spinning on his heel to stalk out of the room, his eyes planted on the wall in front of him.

"Harry…"

"I'm gonna shower."

The pounding of bare feet on the staircase resounded around the corner, and Sirius continued to watch even after he heard the forceful, wounded sound of a door slamming.

He hated slamming doors. And right now, he hated himself for instigating an unnecessary quarrel at seven o'clock on a Saturday morning.

Harry wouldn't have broken his restriction. Sirius knew that.

_Idiot_… he thought.

Sighing in self-contempt, Sirius gripped the back of his throbbing neck as he turned toward the table in a slow, rusty pivot. His eyes raked over the kitchen table, scattered with a handful of miniature branches.

All of a sudden, a tall, cylinder-shaped kettle whistled on the stove behind him.

Sirius glanced over his shoulder, swallowing against the tightness in his throat. Gazing at the steam, he rubbed out the creases in his forehead over and over again with the pads of his fingers.

Harry had made coffee.

* * *

Two hours later, the morning outside had brightened, but the atmosphere inside remained rather gloomy as they waited for Remus.

"You want some toast?" Sirius tentatively asked his godson, who was sulkily sprawled next to him on Lupin's sofa, staring at a cobweb in the corner of the ceiling.

Harry barely shook his head against the cushions. He wasn't speaking to Sirius.

_Bloody sod_, the boy inwardly scowled, though the thought immediately made his belly ache with shame.

"Have it your way then," Sirius mumbled, folding his hands together and resting them in his lap as he blew out his breath and glanced out the window.

Harry fidgeted slightly but said nothing. He despised arguing with his godfather. It made his insides feel squirmy and gnawed to shreds.

But Harry wasn't going to be the one to apologize. Sure, he probably should have asked about taking out his Firebolt to service it, but honestly…Sirius was the one who woke up in a foul mood. Not him.

Several long and boring seconds of quiet passed, and Harry wasn't certain how much longer he could stare at the dust clinging to the ceiling.

An instant later, however, he didn't have to worry about that anymore, as he could feel Sirius looking at him. Soon, his peripheral vision would betray him whether he liked it or not.

"You make a pot of coffee much better than I do, you know that?"

Momentarily startled out of his brood, Harry flipped his head to the far side of the sofa. "Huh?"

"Coffee," Sirius repeated, smiling a bit. "It was good. Thank you."

Pausing for only a second to absorb his godfather's words, Harry dropped his chin his head and nodded. _So he did notice, _he thought, basking silently in the praise. He felt somewhat better already.

"I didn't sleep very well last night," Sirius admitted after a while.

Harry glanced over at him again, bothered by the way his godfather was staring at his own clasped hands, absently separating his palms and then tapping his thumbs together.

"You didn't?"

Raising his head in mock surprise, the strained smile returned with a quick wink. "Not really."

Harry's mind crept back to last night's conversation. "How come?"

But before Sirius could answer, Remus stepped into the taupe-colored living room, briefly straightening out the lining in the pockets of his trousers and hoisting up his moderately frazzled waistband.

"Ready?" he casually inquired, laying a palm over Harry's fringe, giving it a quick ruffle when the boy gaped up at him with tapered lids. "Don't squint…"

"I'm not."

"Are we ready to go?" Remus asked Sirius, removing his hand as he passed over Harry's contradiction.

"I believe so," Sirius replied with a short, forced yawn as he pushed himself up from the sofa. "You ready?" He glanced over at Harry who had followed his godfather's movements, stretching his back in a funny, crooked way as he stood.

"Yeah."

"All right," Remus said with finality as he ambled forward and reached for the Floo powder residing in the rather lopsided clay jar on the mantle.

Harry began to trail after him but stopped when he felt a tug on his shirt sleeve.

"Oi," Sirius uttered softly, pulling Harry close with a hand on the back of his neck.

"Yeah?"

His godfather bowed his head, his eyes softening. "I'm sorry for snapping." His voice was hushed among the sound of ceramic scraping several paces away.

Sirius squeezed Harry's neck once, leaning down to graze a quick kiss at the top of the spiked hair before gently brushing past him to stand by Remus.

Stunned, Harry stared after him, flattening out a few erect strands of hair as he pondered the odd behavior.

* * *

Harry's head spun and his stomach lurched as he crashed into his godfather in the damp and almost muddy dreariness of the unfamiliar living room, painfully clunking his elbow and knee against the threadbare-carpeted floor as he fell. Fizzing, orange fireworks exploded in front of his eyes at intense burn in his funny bone.

Sirius swore fiercely in frustration, but a second later, Harry felt a pair of hands feel along his waist before scooping him up off the floor and bundling him bodily under one arm.

"Can't….breathe," Harry huffed against the muscled forearm digging into his stomach.

"Hold on," Sirius' tight voice wafted through the darkness. Harry could feel his godfather fumbling for his wand; he was almost certain of it.

When something _whooshed _behind them, Sirius quickly glided to the left, Harry in tow, as another body joined them in the dim and rotted haze.

"_Ow_," Harry gasped as his godfather's arm cinched him at the waist.

"Sorry, Bub," Sirius muttered, loosening his hold a bit and dropping Harry to his feet.

"Why's it so dark?"

"_Lumos_," Remus and Sirius recited consecutively, their wands flickering to life with blinding, blue light.

The wavering orbs skirted along the walls until they rested on a bony, decrepit house elf in decaying rags.

Remus jumped back, startled. Sirius cried out hoarsely, throwing Harry behind him.

Emitting a terrified, blood-freezing shriek, the trembling elf flailed its arms around his splotchy, bald head.

Quivering strands of light shot past the side of Harry's head before he buried his face between his godfather's shoulder blades; his pulse feverishly thumped against his temples as the sickening crack of stone filled his ears.

He flinched when several fragments clattered to the floor behind them.

Somewhere above, a woman screamed.

TBC...

* * *

I've been a slug lately. Thanks for all of your patience and kind reviews. More will take place at Number 12, so stay tuned! Hope you enjoyed :)

Also, thank you to ObsidianEmbrace for being such an awesome editor.


	27. Chapter 27

Peeking around Sirius' shoulder, Harry gawked at the grimy elf trembling in the wandlight. Its popped eyes were wild and gleaming with undefined outrage—or fear. Harry couldn't tell. The thing was obviously barmy.

"What's wrong with him?" Harry asked, standing on tiptoe to hoist his chin over the obstruction that was his godfather's shoulder blade.

"Bloodtraitor filth in the house of my mistress!" the elf squawked, his shoulders heaving in tiny palpitations. His eyes flashed back and forth from Sirius to Remus at an impressive pace.

Harry tried to push past Sirius' arm. Sometimes when he crouched down to Dobby's level, the house-elf listened much better and held back his mad rambling for at least a moment.

"Away from Kreacher, horrible boy!"

He hadn't gotten more than two steps forward when he felt a set of fingers encircle his arm solidly and yank him back. Harry glanced up at Sirius as he stumbled over his own trainers, but his godfather wasn't even looking at him. With another quick jerk to the right, Sirius deposited Harry closer to Remus.

As if taking the hint, Remus took hold of Harry's other arm and attempted to pull him further over. But Harry was having none of that. Scowling in offense, he wrenched his arm free of Remus' grasp and moved by himself.

Remus looked surprised at first, but his expression instantly morphed into one of disapproval. He spared Harry a stern glare before turning his attention back to a growling Kreacher and his master.

Stuffing his hands into his back pockets, Harry glanced away, pretending as if he didn't notice the silent rebuke. But he couldn't ignore the funny feeling that spiked in his stomach, spreading warmth up the back of his neck and bleeding into his cheeks. Thank goodness it was rather dark.

"Kreacher! Enough!" Sirius barked, staggering Harry out of his sulk. The elf instantly ceased his horrid grumbling but glowered at his master with watery-rimmed eyes that glittered with bitter loathing.

Harry stared at the tight fierceness of his godfather's face. It startled him. Remus wouldn't look at him either.

"Away from us," Sirius commanded, lowering his wand and gesturing with his head toward the next room.

"Bringing nothing but shame to my poor mistress—"

"_Go_!"

Without another word, the elf popped out of sight.

Smoothing his fingers through his hair, Sirius drew in several deep breaths. He pivoted slowly on the threadbare carpet and gazed at Remus and Harry in a peculiar, sheepish way. "Sorry," he said quietly. He grimaced a bit more. "He's rather foul, I'm afraid."

Sirius gathered a pile of stone fragments with the side of his shoe that had crumbled off of the mantle after Kreacher's unknown hex had blasted past their heads. He kicked the small pile into the hearth.

Carefully, Harry wiggled around Remus to stand by his godfather. Nudging one last hunk of rock with his toe, Sirius looked down at him and wrinkled his nose apologetically. "I didn't mean to pull you like that."

"It's all right," the boy mumbled, still smarting from Remus' chastising eye. "I shouldn't've lunged. I guess I didn't realize he was so awful."

"I didn't realize he was still around," Sirius admitted. "I should have thought about that. I'm sorry." He pulled Harry into a sudden one-armed hug.

Glancing down at the glittering dust eddying in the wandlight, Harry sagged against Sirius' side and allowed himself to be squeezed like a sponge. Sirius released him as he expelled another sharp breath.

Harry took a step back and wriggled his hands back into the seat pockets of his jeans. He swung his elbows a little as he peered up at Remus—sideways through his fringe.

Raising an eyebrow, Remus softened his mouth into a small smile and nodded his head slightly. A silent appreciation of Harry's lame apology.

Remus sniffled from the dust and took a few steps forward. "We're in the kitchen, I take it?" he surmised as his light travelled over a cobweb covered stove. A spider scuttled into one of the burners and froze.

"You'd think, wouldn't you?" Sirius muttered, frowning in disgust as he surveyed the revolting state of their surroundings.

Harry shivered all over as he caught sight of a scrolled up corner of yellowed wallpaper. The air felt clammy against his face and arms. "I think I heard screaming, Sirius." He glanced up at his godfather. "Did you?"

Sirius dragged his light over to Harry. He barely nodded. "I might have. But his house is rather peculiar…it could've been anything."

Pressing his fingertips into the thick soot covering the table top, Harry lifted his hand to his face and studied his grubby prints. "What do you think it was?" He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, smearing the muck before peeking back up.

Harry waited for an answer, but Sirius only lifted both of his eyebrows as if to say '_we'll find out, won't we…'_

"C'mere, Harry," Remus called from the other side of the kitchen table. The noise of scraping and squeaking filled the air as Remus opened and closed one drawer after another.

"What?" Harry asked in response to the summons as he flipped his head around to glance over his shoulder.

Another drawer squealed as it was jammed closed.

"Just come here. I'd like your help."

Harry paused. "For what?"

Straightening up sharply, Remus' brows smashed together as he opened his mouth to speak, but Sirius tapped Harry on the shoulder instead. The boy swiveled his head back towards Sirius immediately. His dark eyes were troubled, but he kept his voice hushed.

"He shouldn't have to ask for your help twenty times over—"

"I was just _wondering_, Sirius," Harry argued quietly. His whole palm was flattened against the sooty table now, but Harry didn't notice.

Sirius glanced around him. "I'll help you," he said to Remus. "What are you looking for?"

"Hey, I'll help _as well_," Harry added in a bit of a huff. He spun around. "I never said I wouldn't…"

Hand resting lightly on a drawer handle, Remus gave them both an amused, slightly exasperated look. "Candles," he said simply. He gestured to the stubs of wax caked with thick, dried drips in the rusted chandelier hanging over the table. "I doubt there's enough wick left to light those."

"I'll find some," Harry declared, swishing his filthy hand against his rear end. He strode forward in earnest.

"Whoa!" Sirius called out, catching the boy by a handful of his t-shirt before he could advance any further.

"_What?_" Harry stumbled back a step, his face crinkled with impatience.

"It's pitch black in this house," his godfather reasoned, "and you can't cast _Lumos_. Besides, I don't want you wandering around here by yourself, Harry. This is a strange place—"

"You grew up here."

"I know," Sirius replied with a grim nod. "It was rather odd back then, as well…"

Harry frowned in curiosity. "Odd, how?"

"You're not going upstairs without me," Sirius stated matter-of-factly, his eyes grew round and solemn in subtle warning. He slowly unclenched his fist that held fast to Harry's t-shirt.

"Who said I was even _thinking_ about it?" Harry retorted, giving a brisk tug to the middle of his shirt to straighten out the bunched material. "You act like I get in trouble every second of the day—"

"Oh, I _don't_ either."

"You do _sometimes_—"

Remus cleared his throat emphatically. Sirius and Harry snapped their heads up in his direction.

"If you two are quite finished, I'd like some light in here that doesn't require me to carry it around..." Remus commented. Gritting his teeth, he rammed closed a chipped, wedged drawer. Task completed, he turned to face them. "Harry, you and I will go up a floor and see what we can find."

Glancing quickly at his godfather, Harry shrugged.

"Sirius," Remus continued after running a hand over his face, "are you wanting to stay down here and look, or should we all go up together?"

Placing a hand at the base of Harry's neck, Sirius gently prodded him forward. "Go ahead, Bub," he prompted. He nodded toward Remus. "No, it's all right. I'll take a quick look around here before I go upstairs." Dragging his light over the rotting wood of the cabinets, Sirius began to inch his way around the kitchen.

Remus smiled at Harry and hunched his shoulders, gesturing him to follow.

"Take care of my kid," Sirius muttered, his voice muffled from across the room.

"I'll do my best."

Harry curled his upper lip in annoyance as Remus steered him forward a bit. "I'm not a kid…"

"Could have fooled me," Sirius remarked as he poked his wand into a cluttered cabinet filled with dust-swathed, pewter goblets.

Harry spun around to retort, but Remus caught the top of his head with splayed fingertips and turned him back around as they entered the short corridor, ducking under the silky, slim ribbons of cobwebs.

"You've got dirt all over your bum, did you know?"

Halting, Harry twisted over his shoulder, glimpsing the soiled material for only an instant before a light bark of strangled laughter drifted from the kitchen.

* * *

Grimmauld Place was nothing like the Weasleys'. And since Ron's home was the only magical residence Harry had ever seen, he didn't have much to compare it to. He supposed the dining room looked more like Mrs. Figg's, but then again, Mrs. Figg didn't have a large mounted crest on one wall.

The china in the cupboard appeared to be rather ordinary, though each dish was covered with a thin film of dark gray filth as if it hadn't seen a sink and a scrub brush in years. But what struck Harry the most were the silver handles shaped like serpents. A larger snake edged the backrest of each throne-like chair, and in Remus' wandlight, its eyes gleamed a ghostly green.

Harry felt the chills run up and down his arms again.

A few paces away, Remus continued scavenging around in the drawers underneath the tarnished silverware. "Have you found any more than just those few, Harry?" His voice sounded hollow as it bounced off the enclosed space.

Glancing down at the three half-used candles he clutched in his hand, Harry picked at a skinny drip of dried wax. "Huh-uh," he answered dully. He listened to the scratching sounds Remus was making for a bit longer before moving closer to the hunched, silhouetted form. "Have you found anything?"

Pulling his hand out of a deep drawer, Remus held up two unused candles for Harry to see. They were both tall and had tapered wick-ends—very much like dinner candles.

"Can you light those by magic, or do we need to find matches?" Harry tried to keep the sourness out of his voice as he leaned his hip up against the curvy edge of the table. He was tired of searching.

Remus nudged the drawer closed with his elbow. "No," he confirmed as he easily rose up from his crouched position. "I'll light them."

"Oh…good."

"It'll be a bit dark in here for a moment, I'm afraid," Remus warned. He leaned over and stuffed the blunt end of one of the candles into an empty holder.

Twisting his lips into an apathetic expression, Harry shrugged. "So?"

Remus tightened the muscles in his face to hide his amusement. "You mean you're not frightened of the dark?" Plucking out an old candle stub from the other miniature pewter pool, Remus jammed in the second candle, flicking away a few old drizzles of frozen wax.

Harry stared at him. "Are you joking?"

He'd gotten over his fear of darkness a long time ago, and as a child, the few times his lightbulb-on-a-string burnt out, he had wailed at the top of his lungs until Uncle Vernon shuffled into his cupboard, grumbling about his eardrums bursting over such racket. More than anything, the Dursleys just wanted to keep him quiet and inconspicuous.

Remus' grin eventually leaked onto his face. He held out his hand for Harry's candles. The boy handed them over without a word.

"No need to look so moody," Remus said, giving Harry a quick waggle of his eyebrows.

Harry allowed a half-smile to breach the graveness. "I'm not."

"Very good to hear, I must say," Remus teased warmly. Lugging the candles over the middle of the table, he straightened up. "All right, then," he began. "It'll only be dark for a moment."

Harry waited. But when Remus extinguished his light, the gloom nearly smothered him. He held his breath, silently grateful he wasn't alone. Sirius was right; there was something strange about this place. How on earth had he lived here for sixteen years?

An instant later, the dining room filled with a soft, orange glow. _Much better_, Harry thought. A gusty sigh escaped his nose, but Remus didn't comment on it.

"That improves things, doesn't it?" Remus noted. He squeezed Harry's shoulder firmly as he sidled past him. "We'll save your candles in case we don't find any upstairs."

Turning and resting his other hip against the table top, Harry's eyes trailed after him. "Remus?"

"Yes?" He began sifting through the small corner cabinet.

Harry ran his thumb along the wooden detailing carved into the edge. "You s'pose Sirius is okay here?"

Pausing for a second, Remus looked up at him thoughtfully.

"I mean," Harry continued, gazing at the shapeless shadow of the flames dancing against the oak, "he's acting a bit odd, isn't he?"

Remus gave a slight nod. "A little."

Harry snapped his head up at the casual confirmation. His insides suddenly coiled with guilt, though he wasn't sure why. "I told him we didn't have to come if it made him feel bad," Harry said quietly.

"He'll be just fine, Harry," Remus assured him. His eyes were kind and doe-like in the yellow dimness. "You're very good to worry about your godfather. He's lucky to have you."

Harry felt his face grow hot again. He averted his eyes toward the trickle of wax cascading down the off-white candle. "That's just it, though," the boy mumbled. "He only came 'cause of _me_…"

"He needed this trip for himself as well, you know," Remus added. He stood slowly.

Harry thought about this for a moment. Visiting the Dursleys' one last time had certainly made _him_ feel better. "So then—"

"Found them," Sirius broke in jovially as he entered from the narrow corridor. He jiggled the old cigar box, heavy with candles.

They gaped at him.

Sirius took a deep breath as if he were going to speak but hesitated, tilting his head when he noticed his best friend and godson staring at him. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Harry responded immediately, rounding the table. "Here, I'll take them." He held out his hand.

But Sirius had lowered his hand carefully, as if it were rusted. The candles toppled over themselves as he held it vertically against his thigh. Sirius made a face as he raked his gaze over the dining room. "This used to be my mother's favorite room. We weren't even allowed to step foot in here—she didn't want our fingerprints on the table." He glanced down at Harry. His eyes were clouded—heavy with a strange overlap of hilarity and…sorrow, perhaps. "Ridiculous, isn't it…"

Pressing his teeth into his smashed lips, Harry reached out and slipped the cigar box out of his godfather's loose grip. "I wasn't ever allowed in the parlor at the Dursleys," he murmured. It was all he could think to say.

Sirius watched as Harry peeked under the flimsy flap and set the box down on the table.

"We need to spend more time in our parlor at home," Sirius remarked. "I'm not sure why we don't. It needs more fingerprints."

Harry peered up at him, smiling crookedly once his godfather's words sank in. "You're mental."

"I know," Sirius said, winking at Remus who was leaning against the marble top of the small cabinet. "I get it from you." He poked his index finger deftly into the middle of Harry's stomach before the boy could flinch away.

"Oi!" Harry doubled over, choking on a laugh.

Remus grinned and shook his head at the pair of them. But suddenly, his smile faded; his head perked up like a cat hearing a bird's twitter around the corner.

Sirius picked up on the gesture instantly. He ruffled his godson's hair lightly as the boy recovered, scratching ferociously at the tickle in his belly, but he was focused on Remus. Sirius frowned in question. "What?" he mouthed silently.

Holding up a finger, Remus sauntered forward in tiny, wading steps.

"Hush for a second, Bub," Sirius whispered gently to Harry, whose face began to mirror his godfather's the instant he plunged into solemn realization. He moved closer to Sirius and glanced up at him inquiringly.

"Do you hear voices?" Remus asked softly, staring straight ahead.

"Voices?" Harry piped up.

"Shhh."

The dual command washed over Harry like a wave splashing up in his face. Sirius didn't look down at him, but he reached out and palmed the side of his neck, pulling Harry to stand almost in front of him, his forearm draped along the smaller chest.

Harry bowed his head a bit and listened.

In the distance, somewhere past the broader corridor, two voices muttered very lightly, disjointedly—one low, one lofty.

Needles pricked the walls of Harry's stomach and made the air buzz around him. The screaming. It had been a pithy, thin wail and remained in his mind like the memory of a nightmare. But he'd been so involved in hunting for candles and taking in the odd decorations of Number Twelve, he'd hardly given it a second thought.

Looking over his shoulder briefly, Remus held up his index finger once more. Arm still wrapped across his godson's shoulders, Sirius leaned back and took hold of one of the candles, shaking it out of its holder. He handed it to Remus and nodded.

Cautiously, holding his candle away from his torso, Remus moved toward the corridor.

TBC...

* * *

Readers? Are you still out there? (hides face in shame). I FINALLY got this chapter posted! And my most genuine thanks goes to everyone who has been extremely patient while I finished up my other story and...took a break on this one. It feels so wonderful to write Sirius and Harry again. :) I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Now that I am only working on one story, I should be back to my regular weekly updates.

I also owe a special thanks to ObsidianEmbrace for fixing a few mechanical errors for me this time around. Her new chapter of 'Crucio' is up, and it's mighty awesome.

Thanks again, everyone!


	28. Chapter 28

It wasn't long before Remus poked his head back around the corner, summoning them with a quick curl of his fingers. He disappeared before Harry could see his face well enough to determine the severity of the situation.

He barely risked a glance up toward Sirius' chin, wary of meeting his gaze full-on in case his godfather had that look in his eyes that told Harry to stay put.

But Sirius only scraped his fingers through his hair, tucking it out of the way before sliding Harry to the side a bit with the forearm that spanned his chest. "Let me go first," he insisted, peering forward as he released his godson.

"Okay," Harry said quietly, mostly to himself since Sirius appeared to be engrossed in what lay beyond the wallpapered corridor. Harry tucked a thumb into one of his denim belt loops and took a step back.

Reaching behind him, Sirius clicked his bent knuckles together like lobster claws for a few seconds until he pinched a small fold of Harry's t-shirt in between them before inching forward toward the orange circle of light glowing from Remus' candle.

Harry frowned down at the fingers clamped around his twisted t-shirt. "I'm not planning on running off anywhere, you know…"

Sirius didn't reply to this, but when the hushed wisps of conversation floated through the air again, Harry ignored the human leash and allowed himself to be towed forward.

As they neared, Harry noticed that the bottom half of Remus' body was shadowed in the scant light. He was gripping the wooden edging on the wall with one hand and holding his candle back into the corridor as he leaned his head past the threshold and into the murkiness of the entrance hall.

It was then that Harry realized they must be traveling through the house backwards.

Slowly, Sirius pulled his wand from the waistband across his hip. Releasing Harry a second time, he gently nudged Remus with his elbow as not to startle him. "Can you see who it is?" he asked, barely moving his lips.

Harry stepped around to Sirius' other side, but all he could see were the corners of a few cracked and chipped frames on the wall nearest to Remus' head and the thread-like outline of the top of the largest portrait at the far end of the hall. A delicate, tiny flame flickered in the distance, but everything else was concealed in darkness.

The whispering grew brash, more frantic. Harry's skin tingled all over.

Wrapping his fingers around the candle, Sirius slipped it from Remus' weak grip and handed it back to Harry.

"Stay here," Sirius muttered under his breath without glancing over his shoulder. He moved his head closer to Remus' and the two of them crept forward like snails, away from the candlelight.

Harry felt like he was watching his godfather and Remus float down a current, and he had to fight the magnetic urge to trail after them. Scrabbling for his wand, Harry jerked it out of his trousers, ignoring the hot burn that flashed underneath his waistband as the polished wood was dragged roughly over his clammy skin.

Dripping candle in one hand, wand in the other, Harry reoccupied Sirius' empty space as he and Remus edged further out of sight. As much as he wanted to go with them, Harry forced his candle hand to remain steady—pulled back into the corridor.

Harry was breathing loudly, but he couldn't seem to control the panting breaths that were bursting in his ears. If he had a free hand, he would have pinched his nostrils together.

The far-off flame hung close to the ground, but the light remained feeble, as if it were being suffocated.

Without thinking, Harry brought his own candle up to his lips and blew it out. He couldn't see. Breathing was becoming a chore. And the liquefied wax scalded his hand as it trickled down.

Blinking against the new dimness, Harry began to make out the wavy sketch of Sirius' hair. Barely. Like distinguishing midnight-blue paint on a black wall.

He leaned forward into the Entrance Hall, squinting at the tall, crawling silhouettes.

A coarse snicker wafted through the space.

Someone pounded on the wall behind Harry's head. Or was that his heartbeat? He sucked in his breath involuntarily. He gave a jerky glance to his left.

"_Lumos!_"

"_Stupefy!"_

The consecutive, familiar shouts had Harry spinning back around in a flash.

Something thudded against the carpet in the distance at the same moment the woman in the portrait threw back her head and shrieked.

Fully illuminated now, Sirius' head skittered around crazily as he swore at the top of his lungs. Remus had a handful of Sirius' collar.

Chucking his warm candle to the ground, Harry bolted forward.

Kreacher lay sprawled, face-up on the carpet.

* * *

The high-pitched wailing made Harry's ears ring, but he couldn't rip his eyes away from the leathery elf. A piece of soiled rag covered most of Kreacher's face.

Harry could feel Sirius trembling next to him. And that frightened him the most.

"Is he dead?" Harry grated out, his throat parched. He glanced up at Sirius, but his godfather only had eyes for the lady flailing in front of him—muddy, disbelieving eyes.

Remus stood several paces ahead of them; he slashed his wand violently through the air, silencing the chilling howl. The woman clutched at her throat with gnarled fingers. The uneven smears of rouge on her face made her cheeks look raw. But her eyes struck Harry the most. They were black—blacker than Snape's—and completely barren of emotion. Somehow in her silent state, she was utterly terrifying.

Sirius rested a rigid hand toward the back of his wavy hair, the way he always did when he was attempting to untangle his thoughts, but this time, his fingertips were rigid with pressure.

Harry reached up and took hold of his godfather's free, dangling forearm, tugging a bit. "Sirius, who is that?"

Staring for another moment longer, Sirius clamped his lips together as if to trap the words. "My mother," he said finally.

Harry's stomach rolled over. In slow motion, he let his hand slide down, suddenly feeling intrusive and sweaty with embarrassment, but Sirius caught his fingers before they dropped and gave them a clumsy, quick squeeze—as if that had been Harry's intention all along. Sighing quietly, he trailed his thumb along the boy's knuckles as he tore his gaze away toward Remus.

And Harry let him, even though his original plan had been to give his godfather some space. He wasn't very good at this.

Remus was crouching in front of Kreacher with a furrowed brow. He twisted on his toes to look over his shoulder. "His heartbeat's a bit weak," he noted with worry.

Releasing Harry's hand, Sirius took a few steps forward. He stuffed his hands into his front pockets as he gazed down. "I didn't recognize his voice," Sirius admitted, continuing to stare at the inert elf like he was sizing up roadkill. "I'm sure he'll pull through." He made a face. "Unfortunately…"

Harry brushed past Sirius and squatted down beside Remus. He half-expected to be tugged back up by his shirt, but he wasn't. Reaching across the elf's face, Harry clipped the corner of the loose rag with the tips of his fingers and pulled it back slowly. The tennis ball eyes were hooded and glassy.

"He looks dead…" Harry muttered, grimacing in sympathy.

"Get back, Harry."

Dropping the corner of cloth onto Kreacher's chest, Harry looked up at Remus. "He's knocked out; he can't see me."

"I know that," Remus replied quietly as he carefully maneuvered one hand underneath the elf's knees and the other behind his shoulders, "but I don't want him to come to yet."

Harry sagged back onto his heel, watching as Remus rose from the ground, balancing Kreacher on his palms like a heavy platter. The elf's head flopped back. He didn't stir.

Remus suddenly frowned down at Harry with a questioning look. "Didn't Sirius tell you to stay in the corridor?"

Surprised by the accusation, Harry could only gape up at him, his brainwaves gyrating in search of a retort.

"He's all right."

Still hugging his knee to his chest, Harry twisted his torso around to face his godfather, effectively avoiding Remus' opinionated eyebrow. But before he could say anything, Sirius stretched his hand down and tugged on the collar of his t-shirt. Harry stood immediately.

"Oh, he is?" Remus shot back; the forced neutralization was evident. And Harry recognized such quiet solemnity as the calm before Remus' storm. The Marauder's Map incident floated to the front of his mind, taunting him.

Sirius' eyes flickered briefly over the still-silenced portrait of Walburga Black and back to Remus. "Where do you plan on taking him?" He nodded once toward the elf in Remus' arms, passing over the mild discord.

Glancing down at his putrid bundle, Remus inhaled as if the obvious answer were on the tip of his tongue. And then he paused, his mouth slightly twisted. He vaulted an eyebrow, flashing Sirius a look laden with uncertainty. "Pomfrey wouldn't mind tending to him, would she?" He gazed down again, tilting his arms to raise the elf's head a bit. "St. Mungos seems rather—"

"St. _Mungos?" _Sirius repeated emphatically. "He's a house-elf, Remus…"

"You nearly snuffed him," Harry broke in.

Sirius flipped his head toward his godson. "_He_ nearly snuffed us all."

"Not on purpose…"

"You said _yourself_, he was foul!"

Harry paused, making a face to smother his slightly injured feelings. "You're yelling at me again for no reason."

Blowing out his breath, Sirius clamped both hands over the top of his head this time and turned toward a smaller, sneering portrait. "I know." After a minute, he crossed his arms over his chest and toed down a curled-up corner of the frayed rug.

Harry watched as the carpet rolled up over and over, wishing more than anything that he knew how to make Sirius feel better.

No one spoke until Remus cleared his throat gently. "I'll lay him out on the dining room table." He swept past them without further comment.

Harry gazed down the gloomy corridor, watching as Remus' form grew smaller as he trudged carefully into the candlelight. Noiselessly, he placed Kreacher on top of the moth-eaten tablecloth; his bony feet were bulky on the ends of his short, wiry shins.

"He's littler than Dobby," Harry noted in a rather small voice. His eyes trailed after the placid movements of Remus' hands against the elf's throat.

Sirius risked a glance to his right. He swallowed roughly. "I promise he's not delicate in the least."

Harry's teeth caught his bottom lip as he looked over at Sirius. His godfather's eyes were shiny—foreign against the apathetic expression. "You can go in there with Remus if you'd like."

Harry stole one more glance toward the dining room and then slowly shook his head.

Nodding, as if he'd been expecting such a reaction, Sirius studied the carpet for another instant before gesturing toward his mother's portrait with a tip of his head. "You wanna help me with that, then?"

Looking back over his shoulder, Harry stared in morbid fascination as Walburga bared her lipstick-smeared teeth and screamed insults which he couldn't interpret.

"Was she always that way?" he asked quietly. Unable to bear the ink-blot eyes any longer, he turned back around. No wonder Sirius was on edge.

Bending his lips into the weakest of smiles, Sirius shook his head. "No."

Harry wasn't certain whether he should feel relieved or sympathetic. But this time, he was the one to nod. "Yeah, I'll help."

* * *

They'd been at it for nearly twenty minutes. Harry's hands were red and splotchy, and they ached all over.

Remus' Silencing Charm hadn't lasted long, and even though Sirius had renewed it twice, Harry's eardrums still buzzed with the sound of Walburga's screaming.

All of a sudden, Sirius reached out and gathered Harry's wrists together with one sweep of his hand, pulling them away from the portrait. "No, don't tug at it anymore," he ordered softly, flipping the boy's palms toward the ceiling and rubbing at the indented heel s with his thumbs. "You're going to tear up your hands."

"I can't get it off the wall…" Harry's palms felt hot and itchy now. He watched as Sirius continued to massage them in small, quick circles.

"I know, kiddo. It doesn't matter."

Harry expelled a quiet, frustrated breath. "Yeah, it does."

Sirius snapped his head up; his thumbs stilled against Harry's palms. "What do you mean?"

Shrugging, Harry examined the slim, shiny scrape near his forefinger. The skin around it was beginning to swell a bit.

"Harry?"

The boy withdrew his hands and curled up his finger, scratching at the shallow abrasion with his thumbnail. He stole a candid glimpse at his godfather over the rims of his round glasses.

Sirius' face was careworn as he shifted in place. "Why does it matter?"

Harry lifted his chin and sighed. "I can tell it's really bothering you."

"What is?"

"Quit pretending, Sirius…" Harry could feel his voice growing huffy. Their visit to the Dursleys had seemed so much easier than this. "You're—" he stalled.

"I'm what?" Sirius questioned gently. "Hey—look at me."

Harry's sockets felt rusty, but he focused in on the concerned gray of his godfather's eyes anyway. "You're acting weird."

His godfather's forehead ironed out in surprise as he straightened his shoulders a bit. "Am I?"

Harry could have slugged himself; the honesty was mincing his guts.

"It's just…" He hesitated again, but Harry didn't know how else to articulate his thoughts. "Yeah, you are."

Grimacing apologetically, Sirius smoothed a hand back and forth across his hairline as if he were trying to recall his most recent act of weirdness. "I don't mean to be."

"I know," Harry said quickly, suddenly regretting his declaration. He squirmed. "I only meant—"

"No, it's all right," Sirius cut him off with a tiny shake of his head. "You don't have to explain yourself."

Harry opened his mouth to disagree, but suddenly jolted madly, cringing at the nauseatingly familiar screeching behind him. The skin on his neck felt like it was shriveling.

Instantly, Sirius fumbled for his wand, ripping it away from his waistband. Gritting his teeth, he whipped it toward his mother and silenced her. Sirius glowered hatefully at the drool gleaming on the woman's chin. His jaw line quivered for an instant, and then he swept away from her portrait.

Harry strode forward, following him for several paces until Sirius suddenly halted. He turned and slumped his back against the wall with a heavy thump. The frames vibrated overhead.

Threading his fingers through his hair, Sirius slid down until his seat hit the floor, letting his head tilt back until it clunked against the peeling wallpaper. He closed his eyes.

Before Harry could even consider speaking, footsteps sounded from the corridor. Remus stepped into the Entrance Hall. "I heard a thud; what's happened?" He worriedly surveyed the scene.

Face frozen in an odd sort of flinch, Harry hunched up his shoulders. He gaped helplessly at Remus.

"Sirius?"

"Yeah?" Sirius dropped his hands, stretching his eyes wide open.

Remus frowned down at him in concern. "What are you doing?" he asked quietly.

A short pause.

"He's resting," Harry suddenly answered for him, strolling over to the vacant patch of wall next to his godfather. He could feel Sirius' eyes traveling over him as plunked down next to him and stuck his feet straight out. "We both are."

The shallow wrinkles that branched out toward Remus' temples deepened as he stared down at the two of them. "Still not having much luck, I take it?"

Harry wearily shook his head against the wall, but Sirius elaborated: "A permanent sticking charm must have been placed on it," he muttered, stretching his legs out next to Harry's; he glanced over at the boy as if he were going to say something else, but he didn't.

Sirius' face seemed to sag with melancholy. He looked very young.

"Is Kreacher awake?" Harry asked, scrambling for a change of topic. Reaching between his knees, he picked at the miniature clumps of dust that clung to the carpet.

Sucking in a slow breath, Remus placed the heels of his hands against his hips. "He started to wake, but I charmed him back to sleep," he explained. "His heartbeat's steadied, but I think a few hours' rest will do him good."

Quietly, Sirius nodded. He reached over and flicked a tiny white spider off of Harry's trousers before the boy could even react. Harry felt the backs of his knees tingle with the phantom tickling of eight scurrying legs.

"Are you two all right, then?" Remus continued his subtle interrogation as he straightened a crooked portrait to his left and then made a face. The frame looked even more off-kilter than before.

"We're fine," Harry replied.

Sirius gave his friend a tired, tilted smile. "My godson, the orator, says we're fine." He flicked his eyes back toward Harry and winked.

"You need our help?" Harry piped up, ignoring Sirius' amiable quip. "With Kreacher, I mean…"

"Thank you, Harry," Remus said kindly; his eyes still held warmth at his best mate's customary jousting. "But no, I'm quite all right. I'll observe him for a while longer and then I'll come help you."

"Okay." Harry leaned back against the wall again and wiggled his tickly nose to rid it of the dust.

Taking note of Harry's nasal distress, Remus dug into a pocket of his trousers and pulled out a clean, folded handkerchief, tossing it across the room.

It landed on Harry's lap.

"Thanks," the boy said, snatching it up and giving his nose a serious rub with the wadded material.

Remus nodded once at Sirius, who, after a moment, returned the gesture meaningfully. He turned and made his way back toward the sleeping elf.

* * *

"Just blow, Harry."

A frustrated sniffle invaded the quiet space. "It doesn't help…"

"Are you allergic to dust?"

Harry wiped at his nose and peeked up at Sirius. "Isn't everyone?"

"No."

Thinking about this for a moment, Harry sniffed again. As a child, he was always runny-nosed in his cupboard-under-the-stairs. "Oh."

"Blow your nose."

Harry blew.

"Hey, Sirius?"

"Hey, what…"

Crumpling up the used handkerchief in his fist, Harry looked over at his godfather again. "Why don't you just paint over your mum's portrait? Then you wouldn't have to look at her."

Sirius drew up his knees a bit and gazed down at them. "I'm not sure if that would work," he admitted softly, "and I don't want to go looking for paint."

"Oh."

"It's not a bad idea, though," his godfather added. "Paint her as black as she always wanted to be…" He laced his fingers together and balanced his wrists on his knees, staring at them sadly.

Harry swiveled his head around, zealously searching for a solution; Sirius was beginning to look gutted again. "Erm—"

"Never mind, Bub."

"But she's gonna scream again…"

"We'll just go upstairs."

Harry sat up a bit and tucked his knees closer, like Sirius. He fixed his godfather with a weighty look. "She'll be here when we come back down, though."

Sighing, Sirius slumped back against the wall. He gazed past Harry's shoulder. "I know."

"We can just leave—"

"Hang on a minute," Sirius interrupted. Placing a light hand against Harry's shoulder, he picked up his wand from where it rested on the floor by his hip and hoisted himself up.

Squinting in concentration, Sirius swished his wand toward the other side of the Hall, muttering a quiet incantation. A series of clinks and rustles drifted through Harry's ears, and a few seconds later, a set of long, moldy curtains attached to a rusty rod flew across the room.

Rising quickly, Harry pressed his back up against the wall, watching the dirty crystal of the chandelier quaver as one of the knob-ends brushed past. He wrinkled his nose as the musty scent of the approaching, tattered velvet wafted into his nostrils.

Walburga continued to flail, oblivious as the curtains reattached themselves over her portrait and slipped the rest of the way closed, concealing her from view.

"_Proprius signum_," Sirius recited, giving his wand a final flick toward the relocated curtains.

"What does that do?"

Sirius tucked his wand back into its holding place as he whirled around slowly. "Keeps it there permanently," he answered. "There's no countercurse…not one I know of, anyway." He walked over towards Harry; the storm cloud that had settled over his face was already beginning to dissolve. "That's a sight better, isn't it?"

Harry didn't respond.

Jamming his shoulder against the wall, Sirius expelled a heavy breath and shook his hair away. After a moment, he lifted his eyes, looking directly at his godson. He wasn't smiling.

"What?" Harry wondered, anchoring his weight with his own shoulder.

"You were right," Sirius said simply.

Harry shifted against the wall and cocked his head slightly. "Right about what?"

Sirius' chest rose and fell significantly. "She was bothering me."

Feeling his nose begin to prickle again, Harry sniffed against the watery sensation.

"Blow," Sirius advised with a nod.

Glimpsing his wadded handkerchief, Harry brought it up to his face and obeyed. "I'm sorry," he mumbled through his clogged nose.

"For what?" Sirius watched as Harry smashed the cloth up even smaller.

Harry shrugged.

Sirius held his hand out for the soiled hankie.

"You seriously want this?" Harry scrunched up his forehead in a disgusted, skeptical way.

"It's not going to clean itself…"

Passing over the article in question, Harry waited while Sirius performed a fast cleaning charm before returning it to him.

Harry fingered the dry, thin cloth, surprised by the sudden constricting of his throat. "I'm sorry your mum was so horrid to you, Sirius."

It wasn't fair. His godfather shouldn't have had to leave home just like Harry shouldn't have had been made to feel like an unwanted stranger at his aunt and uncle's kitchen table. Grown-ups were supposed to understand this. They should have known.

Sirius' Adam's apple bobbed in a thick swallow. He smiled softly at Harry. "Shall I show you where I slept?"

It didn't make sense—how quickly Sirius was able to gulp down his emotions. Maybe it got easier with age. Either way, Harry nodded. "If you want."

All of a sudden, Remus' voice trailed in from the dining room.

"What was that?" Sirius called back. Harry stood very still.

"Can you come in here for a minute?" Remus replied, louder. "I need your help." His tone was a bit sharp with apprehension.

Harry stared at Sirius in question.

"Will you wait for me here?" his godfather demanded. "You can sit on the steps."

"What's the matter with—"

Sirius held up his hand, cutting the boy short. "It's probably nothing to worry about. But if Kreacher's woken up…"

"I'll stay back," Harry promised.

"You'll stay _far_ back this time," Sirius continued, renewing his commanding eye with vigor.

Harry closed his mouth, biting his tongue.

Sirius' eyes softened. He leaned in. "I promise I'll call for you if we need your help, all right? But for now I want you to wait for me."

"I only came out of the corridor before 'cause I heard someone hit the floor…"

"I know that," Sirius affirmed, pointing toward the staircase with a brisk nod. "Now, on the steps with you." Figuring Harry would obey, Sirius escaped into the dining room, calling over his shoulder, "Shout if you need me."

Dragging his feet toward the carpeted stairs, Harry climbed halfway up and plopped down, stretching his legs all the way out. He leaned back, resting his weight on his elbows. He could see Sirius and Remus talking over the house-elf with bowed heads and whispers, but he couldn't hear a thing. The filth from the grayish rug made his eyes water, and Harry sat up quickly to avoid a sneezing fit.

But as soon as Harry caught sight of the head-shaped silhouette hovering close to the bare, smoggy window, all thoughts concerning his new-found allergy seeped through his brain like sand through fingers.

Bony knuckles rubbed circles against the pane, but the face peering in remained grimy.

Harry gripped either side of the step beneath him, suddenly feeling as if he'd swallowed his tongue.

TBC...

* * *

A/N: Proprius signum Latin for _permanent seal_

It's been about a week...ish. Right? I told you I'd be back. Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed last chapter! Hugs to all. I also noticed several new readers this time around, and I appreciate your feedback, letting me know that you're out there :) As always, I owe a ton to the fabulous ObsidianEmbrace for being my guinea pig.

Finally, as for Walburga's portrait, after researching, I found no evidence indicating the outright failure of a Silencing Charm or the ever-presence of the curtain. Also, keep in mind that the Fidelius Charm (concealing the house from view) wasn't utlized until OotP when the Order took it over. However, I'd be happy to address any other questions or concerns involving the house, HP fact-fanatics ;)


	29. Chapter 29

"What is he mumbling?" Sirius wondered, leaning in closer to the twitching elf.

"Don't touch him."

Sirius flipped his head over his shoulder and goggled at Remus incredulously. "Why the bloody hell would I _touch_ him?"

"Do you think he's dreaming?" Remus passed over Sirius' demanding inquiry with ease.

Curling his fingers around the edge of the table, Sirius narrowed his brows objectively as he turned his attention back to Kreacher. "You can tell he's conked out, but I don't think the spell keeps him from dreaming…" He flicked his eyes back to the right. "Does it?"

"I don't think so." Remus licked his lips and fell silent for a moment, listening.

The remaining candle had melted into a stump; Kreacher's moldy, threadbare rag now drooped off of his scrawny shoulder and lay close to the descending flame.

Silently, Sirius reached around the twisted feet and nudged open the cigar box. He lit and assembled a new candle in the empty holder while Remus hunched down a bit and turned his ear toward Kreacher's withered lips.

"Whose name is he saying?" Remus muttered to himself, eyes drifting in contemplation.

Sirius flipped the cardboard lid closed with a knuckle. "Name?"

"Does he have siblings?"

Straightening slowly, Sirius stared. "Plan on contacting his mum and dad as well? What sort of question is that, Remus?"

Remus gave a sideways nod toward the elf's chest. "Listen," he countered patiently.

Clutching at the table again, Sirius balanced his weight on his arm and complied.

Kreacher's whispering was muddled and thin, hiss-like.

"He's always been nutters," Sirius informed quietly, though his face was drawn with uncertainty. "I don't think he's saying anything—"

Remus barely shook his head. "…sounds like 'sister'."

"_Sister_?" Sirius pulled back slightly, flashing Remus a strange look. "That doesn't make sense, Moony."

"Sounds like he's hissing…"

Sirius shifted, shaking his own head now. "I think he's just delusional…he's always been off."

Suddenly, Remus' eyes darted past Sirius' torso. He stood, still gazing over his friend's shoulder into the smoggy atmosphere of the visible fraction of the Entrance Hall.

"What's wrong?" Sirius asked.

Remus gestured with his brisk incline of his chin. "Harry's gone out of sight."

Whipping around, Sirius stiffened, drawing himself up when he noticed the vacant staircase. "Damn," he whispered through gritted teeth. Sirius strode forward, Kreacher forgotten.

"Has it even been ten minutes?" Remus questioned; he nipped closely behind.

Sirius exhaled strongly as the neared the end of the corridor. "No."

* * *

The shadow shifted, and Harry's trainers suddenly felt as if they'd fused to the carpet. His insides tumbled down to his shins and remained, like heavy hunks of clay.

Yes, that was definitely a human—not a dog with its paw against the window like Harry'd foolishly hoped.

Harry was only three paces away from the bottom step, but he dared not move in case the stranger decided to barge through the front door and tackle him. Or wrap his hands around Harry's throat and choke him until he kicked it.

Was the door even locked?

The dark shape moved again, shrank against the window.

Harry's chest shriveled and a tingling jolt of instinct spun him around on the spot. But before he could take two steps forward, Sirius whizzed around the corner. Harry flinched, gasping sharply as his godfather caught him by the shoulders just before they collided into each other.

"Sirius—" Harry panted. He twisted against the grip around his biceps, trying to turn around.

"_Hey,_" Sirius snapped, giving his godson a firm jostle. "What did I just get through saying five minutes ago?"

"I know but…the _window_, Sirius!"

"Yes, I see." Sirius squatted down a bit. "It looks about as filthy as the one in your bedroom…"

Recognizing Sirius' preliminary scolding stance, Harry attempted to wriggle free again. "_No_," he huffed, "You're not listening!"

Sirius loosened his hold.

"What's the problem, Harry?" Remus spoke up from behind Sirius' shoulder.

Slipping an arm free, Harry swiveled around. "There!" He pointed toward the window but immediately deflated, his arm slowly sinking back to his side.

The shadow was gone.

"What is it?" Sirius asked after a moment of staring down the smudges.

Harry searched all four corners of the tall pane carefully. "But just a second ago, I saw…" He tapered off.

"Saw what?" Remus prompted.

Combing his fingers through his fringe, Harry glanced over at him. "A person—someone looking in the window—"

"Harry…" Sirius tightened his fingers around Harry's arm, causing the boy to spin back around.

"I swear I'm not lying!" Harry exclaimed in frustration. He was bordering on explosion but held his temper steady. "I'm _not_, Sirius. I saw someone just—"

"I never said you were lying," his godfather claimed, a bit taken aback by the allegation.

"You've got that _look_ on your face!"

Sirius cocked his head in consternation, frowning. "I've got nothing of the sort—"

"Did you see his face, Harry?" Remus touched the boy's shoulder. "Or _her_ face, I suppose."

Harry shook his head jerkily. "The window's too dirty." He felt Sirius' fingers clamped loosely around his cheeks, tugging him to attention.

"What did I say you were supposed to do if you needed me—or us?" Sirius probed. Harry could sense his godfather's displeasure swelling like flood water. But he pulled a broody face anyway.

"I hate when you ask me questions like that…"

"Like what?"

Harry's eyebrows pinched together in earnest. "That's the _second_ time you've done it."

A sigh snagged in Remus' throat. Enough was enough. "Harry Potter!"

Harry jumped, his eyes round and startled. "What?" The cowardice had sneaked up and stifled him when he had least expected it.

Remus' own eyes were a sandstorm. He shook his head. "That's quite enough," he asserted quietly.

Looking away on cue, Harry gazed down the corridor at the inert elf to avoid eye-contact with either of them. Why was he having such rotten luck today? His first _and_ his last name this time…

After a tense stretch of time, Sirius cleared his throat. "You're—you're certain someone was actually _looking_ in the window?" His expression was strained as he attempted to regain composure after the overshadowing of his friend's natural, automatic authority.

And for some reason, Harry caught on to it immediately. Maybe he was getting better at reading his godfather, maybe not. All Harry was knew was that his cheeks were burning from the inside out, successfully accomplishing what Remus' reprimand couldn't. He dropped his gaze to the tiny plastic buttons at the bottom of his godfather's shirt.

Harry nodded. "I'm pretty sure it was. I think… I mean, I didn't see his face, though," he reiterated.

"You should've shouted for me, anyway…"

Harry glanced up tentatively. "I know," he admitted. "But I wanted to make sure it wasn't just a tree or something."

"Whatever it was, you're lucky we're locked in here," Remus commented in his standard, placid tone.

Harry's stomach untwisted a little. "I wondered if we were." He looked over at Sirius again to assess any traces of hurt feelings, but his godfather was rigid now, staring at the window in unease.

"What?" Harry asked him.

"This isn't the greatest neighborhood, you know," Remus added, wrinkling his nose. "It could've been anyone nosing about."

Harry snorted, flicking his eyes toward Remus. "Probably some sloshed perve."

Pressing his lips together, Remus swallowed a chuckle.

But Sirius shook his head dazedly, his gaze now skating over the dilapidated front door. "No…" he began."

Harry gaped at him. "No, what?"

Shaking his head again, Sirius suddenly looked over at Remus and then down toward his godson. "Muggles can't see this place."

"How come?" Harry wanted to know.

"Unplottable?" Remus followed up. Harry squinted in curiosity.

Sirius nodded warily. "Only wizards who know its location can see it—there are only a few I know of, and most of them," he swallowed, "aren't around anymore."

Harry's frown deepened. "Who are they?"

"No one to fret over, Bub."

"I'm not fretting…"

Sirius didn't respond. Laying a warm palm at the top of his godson's head, he pulled Harry a bit closer and eyed Remus from over the soft, unruly bristles.

Harry couldn't see past Sirius' chest, but he wasn't stupid enough to miss the fact that they were probably flashing each other significant eyebrow twitches from above. He made to squirm away, but stopped himself at the last minute, thinking.

Only a few people knew where Grimmauld Place lay. But which few? A prickly sensation zinged through Harry's stomach. Was Sirius talking about other Death Eaters?

Taking hold of his godfather's wrist, Harry peeled it away from his hair. He stepped back. "Hey, do you think—" Harry clicked his teeth shut, catching himself at the last second.

Sirius glanced down at him. "Do I think what?"

_Nothing, stupid. Don't say anything. You weren't supposed to know._

Inhaling a slow breath, Harry lifted his shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. "Oh. Erm…" He pocketed his sweaty fingers, giving a quick shake of his head. "Never mind. I forgot what I was gonna say."

_Very smooth,_ Harry berated himself. Sirius would never buy it.

"I hate when that happens," Sirius said kindly, his eyes soft. "When it comes to you, make sure and tell me, all right?" He winked—a distracted gesture—before sobering and redirecting his attention back to Remus.

"Okay…"

Sirius had bought it.

"Shall I go out and see?" His godfather proposed to Remus in a soft voice.

But Remus only shook his head, his eyes darting briefly in Harry's direction. "I don't think that's necessary. Is the door protected?"

"With a password," Sirius affirmed, "if I remember correctly. But that doesn't mean—"

"I'll stay on the first floor and keep an eye out while you show Harry the rest of the house," Remus broke in. "I've got my wand."

Sirius sniffed lightly. "And a demented house-elf nearby…"

"He'll be asleep for several hours at least, and whoever was at the door seems to have gone. I'll be fine."

Harry tilted his head, gazing down the corridor into the dining room. "What was the matter with Kreacher anyway?"

"The two of you have probably had enough of this place to last a lifetime, haven't you?" Sirius commented, passing over Harry's inquiry. He sighed, his eyes traveling along the portraits.

"It's all right Padfoot," Remus said. "Take Harry on a fast tour, and then we'll leave." He locked eyes with Sirius and nodded once. A gentle, stable gesture of encouragement.

Remembering Remus' affirmation that their visit to Grimmauld Place was _good_ for Sirius, Harry moved a bit closer to his godfather. "I don't mind being here, Sirius," he added. It wasn't a total lie.

Sirius flicked his gaze toward Harry. "Your nose disagrees with you, I think."

Wiping at his clogged nostrils with the back of his wrist, Harry shrugged, feeling more like a wimpy dolt than ever before. "I don't care."

"Use your handkerchief."

"I have been…"

The corners of Sirius' lips turned. "Well, keep doing it, then."

Remus had sauntered over to the window as they spoke, peering through the less smoggy spots. "Go on," he urged them. "I'll keep watch."

"Send word if you need me," Sirius said solemnly, "and I'll be right down."

"Me too," Harry chirped.

Glancing around, Sirius gave him a distinct _look_.

"What? I'll let you go _first_," the boy declared.

Still gazing, Remus nodded and waved them away.

Sirius raised both eyebrows before placing a hand in the middle of Harry's back and steering him gently toward the stairs. "Keep close to me, all right?"

"I will."

Pulling Harry back just a bit, Sirius lead the way, with his godson at his shoulder.

* * *

The air in the fourth floor was thick with stale heat—a vast contrast to the rotting dampness of the basement kitchen.

"The temperature was regulated by a charm when I was a boy," Sirius explained as Harry plucked his t-shirt away from his neck and blew a cool breath of air down the gap. "Haven't done this since seventh year, but here…"

One zigzag swish of Sirius' wand, and the air instantly chilled.

The tiny hairs on Harry's arms sprang to attention at the change in atmosphere. "Brilliant," the boy approved, rubbing his arms as he studied the poster of a bikini-clad woman plastered to Sirius' bedroom wall.

"What?" Sirius wondered, eyeing his godson slyly. "The temperature in here or my decorating skills?"

Harry grinned at him. "Both, I guess."

Smirking knowingly, Sirius shook his head in a playful manner.

"Did your room at my grandparents' look like this?" Harry piped up, surveying the rest of the various-sized posters of motorcycles and wizarding photographs.

"Not really," his godfather admitted. "James' posters were mostly Quidditch ones. And his bed was smaller… I slept in the trundle underneath."

"Oh."

"But we both had Gryffindor banners…"

Harry looked around some more. "At least your mum and dad didn't tear all of your stuff down after you left." His eyes rested on Sirius. "You know?"

Sirius' lips mashed together and then his teeth sank into his bottom lip as he stared at the silky banner over his bed.

Harry, in turn, stared at his godfather; he'd never seen Sirius look like that before.

"I put sticking charms on everything," Sirius informed him after a moment, his voice soft and thin. "But at least the faces on my photographs aren't scratched out—I would've expected that. I'm sure she didn't fancy coming in here…probably just locked up the room and destroyed the key…"

"Your door wasn't locked," Harry reminded him.

Sweeping his gaze along the thick, scarlet comforter draped across his old bed, Sirius swallowed so slowly Harry could hear it.

Suddenly, he glanced over at his godson. "You don't have a banner in your room at home," Sirius stated; his rims were a bit moist.

Harry thought about this. "I had some drawings at the Dursleys, but they're gone now…"

"I never thought about it," Sirius said contritely. "I didn't even ask you if you wanted everything blue in your room."

"I like blue."

"I know you do. I just never—" Sirius paused before looking intently at his godson. "Would you like one of my banners?"

"But you said they're all stuck…"

"I kept one—maybe two of them—in my wardrobe in case my mother found a way to destroy the hanging ones." Without waiting for an answer, Sirius strode over to the opposite wall and pulled open the doors; they shrieked on their rusty hinges.

Harry cringed, but Sirius ignored it and began rifling carelessly through his things.

Watching his godfather for only a short while longer, Harry cautiously stepped along the groaning floorboards until he reached the headboard of the bed. A collage of yellowed photographs had been plastered against the wall off-center. Immediately, Harry's eyes landed on the smallest snapshot—two curly-headed boys—maybe eight or nine years old—in high-necked, embroidered robes, one a bit smaller than the other.

Harry recognized the taller boy right away. Sirius was handsome then, too, but he was barely smiling in this photograph. He held his face very still; only his eyes were snapping back and forth, as if someone was barking orders at him off to the side.

The little one—Regulus—looked almost identical to Sirius, but his cheeks were dimpled. He was grinning broadly, showing all of his teeth, and trying not to wiggle underneath his brother's hand that rested on his shoulder.

Harry was so mesmerized by the picture that he jumped when he felt a light touch on his shoulder.

"Found your dad?" Sirius asked from behind.

Whirling around, Harry tried to shake the fuzzy feeling in his brain. "Huh?"

Sirius pointed to a spot on the wall. "Your dad," he repeated.

"_My _dad?" Harry followed Sirius' finger. "Oh…" he replied, finally understanding. A larger photograph of a teenage Sirius and his friends had been stuck at the top of the collage.

Harry stared. Funny he hadn't noticed it right off; he really did look like his dad. James' glasses were slightly square-shaped, and he was taller than Harry, but they had the same rounded chin—no angles.

Who would have thought? A chin.

Sirius pointed a bit higher. "See? Your hair sticks up at the same place."

"His hair's flat in the pictures that Hagrid gave me…"

"He grew out of it," Sirius said with a half-smile. "So will you."

Harry examined the photograph a bit longer, making a face as Pettigrew simpered back at him with jutting front teeth and beady eyes. He was nothing but ugly.

A shock of straight, thin hair hung diagonally across a skinny Remus' right eye, but the visible one was round and kind, complimenting his gentle smile. It was still difficult for Harry to imagine the boy in the picture sitting next to a young Snape only one or two years before.

And then there was his dad…and Sirius; they took turns jabbing each other in the ribs, choking back snickers behind clenched teeth. They looked happy.

"I wish we could get that off the wall," Harry mumbled, even though he knew it wasn't possible.

Sirius sighed, his breath fluttering the hair by Harry's ear. "Me too." He smoothed back Harry's fringe from behind and then repeated the gesture. "Have I shown you the pile of photos I've got in my trunk at home?"

"Yeah. Loads of times." Harry turned, pressing his shoulder blades up against the wall. "Sirius?"

His godfather's eyebrows peaked.

"Do you, erm…" Questions about Regulus tickled the tip of his tongue, but Harry bit them back.

"Yes?"

Suddenly plagued with another tickle, Harry decided to change the subject.

"Is there a lav up here?"

"You need to go?"

Harry nodded. "Bad."

"Well," Sirius began, glancing toward the open door, "there's one down the hall. It's small." He wrinkled his nose. "A bit nasty."

"I'm not gonna sit or anything…"

Soft laughter bubbled up Sirius' throat, relaxing his face considerably. "I see. Well in that case…" He started for the door. Harry followed. "I'll hold on to this for you," Sirius continued, reaching for a small, satiny red and gold banner that lay folded on the edge of the bed. He doubled it over once more.

"Where'd you find it?" Harry asked as he trailed after his godfather.

Sirius smirked. "Under a stack of tee shirts. My mum wouldn't touch those with a fifty-foot pole." Grasping the doorknob, he closed it behind the both of them.

* * *

Harry stared down in horror at the black-ringed toiled bowl. There wasn't a drop of water in it.

Glancing over at the rusty basin, Harry's heart skipped a beat when he saw a spider scurry to the drain and disappear down the hole.

Good thing Ron wasn't here…

The mirror was cracked in four or five places and the reflection of the candle's flame split like light through a prism. Sirius had only lit one for him, but the tiny bathroom was fully illuminated by it.

_Too bad_, Harry mused. In the dark, at least he wouldn't have been able to see the toilet. Oh, well. He'd been warned.

Starting on the button of his jeans, Harry's fingers froze on his zipper when he noticed there wasn't any way to flush—no handle.

Harry whispered a swearword; he _really_ had to go now. This was no joke. Looking around, he finally glimpsed a corroded chain hanging from a pipe that went through the ceiling. Pressing his lips together, he reached up and gave it an experimental tug.

The muffled sound of clinking metal came from somewhere behind the wall. But the toilet didn't flush.

Teetering on the edge of apathy, Harry blew out his breath through puffed cheeks and yanked down his zipper, scooting closer to his target.

But something was moving behind the bowl. Harry leaned in closer to get a look.

A thick, white rat's tail whipped along the floor.

"Ugh!" Harry exclaimed, scrambling for the door handle and shuffling out of there as quickly as possible. He slammed the door with both hands flat against the wood.

No way in hell.

* * *

Hurrying back down the corridor, Harry forgot about his fastenings.

He figured there had to be another bathroom somewhere around here, but he would ask Sirius first. No need to get chewed out again over _that_.

Rounding the corner, Harry stopped. Another door had been opened. Tiptoeing closer, he peeked inside.

It was a bedroom—a bit smaller than Sirius'—and the walls were slathered with green and silver banners.

Regulus' room.

Harry took two more hesitant steps forward before the edge of the bed came into view. He froze again when he saw Sirius perched on the edge, his elbows on his knees.

_Oh, no_, Harry thought.

The rasp of parchment sounded in Harry's ears, and he could see his godfather leisurely thumbing through a small book—something of his brother's, probably. Every strand of Sirius' hair had spilled into his face.

Oh, damn.

Gripping the abandoned button of his jeans so hard that it dug into his palm, Harry stood in the corridor, jiggling one of his legs. The last thing he wanted to do was bother Sirius at a time like this. Remus had said that his godfather was lucky to have him around, but at this very moment—inarticulate, bladder bursting—Harry knew he'd be of little comfort.

He would check the next floor down for another loo, do his business, and come right back up; he'd be worth something then.

Sirius had closed the book, marking his place with his index finger. His back heaved with a sigh as he gazed down at the floor.

Backing up slowly, Harry finally reached the stairs and crept down as quietly as he could.

* * *

Fortune was on his side today. And this time, Harry hadn't cared if the toilet flushed or not.

Widening the crack in the door he'd left open for light, Harry exited the lavatory, exhaling in relief. Now he'd definitely be able to sit with Sirius…maybe even ask him the questions that had been brewing in his head ever since he heard Remus and him talking last night. Ask them delicately, of course.

Harry began making his way toward the ascending stairs when all of a sudden a strange _crack_ sounded from somewhere behind him, startling him out of his wits.

Spinning halfway around, Harry saw nothing but black before he felt the tightness around his upper arm and a cool hand over his mouth.

An impending scream clawed at Harry's throat, but as the familiar scent of fusty wool and faded ginger suddenly invaded his nostrils, he forced it down.

The grip around Harry's arm contracted and turned him the rest of the way around; the hand clamped over his mouth remained, the strong fingertips pressing into his cheek.

Harry widened his eyes, sucking in air through his nose as he identified his captor. He _knew _it.

TBC...

* * *

Hi, folks. So, any guesses? I really hope you liked this chapter! Thanks for all of the encouragement. Just so you know, I've got to start working on lesson plans and whatnot, so be patient with me. I swear I won't abandon you :)

_Maddie: Thanks for reviewing my story! It's great to hear from new readers and to know that you're enjoying. Your feedback was very sweet and I appreciate it :)_


	30. Chapter 30

Harry tensed up and tried to rip his face away from the hand over his mouth, but it wouldn't budge.

Leaning in closer than Harry would have liked, Snape's eyes glittered. "If you know what's good for you, Potter," he hissed quietly, "you'll not make a sound."

Harry breathed harshly through his nose, as Snape's index finger threatened to plug up his nostrils with its ginger root scent; his anxious eyes flickered toward the stairs.

Snape's lips curled against his teeth. "Prowling around like a little ruffian, were you? Stupid child—"

"Sirius?" Remus' muffled voice seeped up through the carpet. "Harry? What was that?"

Snape shot up like a coiled spring.

Growling in the back of his throat, Harry worked up a mouthful of spit, ready to utilize his only defense and make a run for it if necessary. But before he could react, Snape was hauling him by the arm into the nearest open room, his hand still clamped across the boy's cheeks.

The sound of a wand whipping expertly through the air sliced through Harry's ears before he found himself locked in and trapped inside an invisible ring of silence.

With Snape.

Harry wrenched himself free of the man's clutches, but Snape made no move to cover his mouth again; instead, he twisted the front of Harry's shirt in his fist and pulled him closer. He opened his mouth in a preparatory snarl, but Harry beat him to it.

"What are you _doing?_" the boy demanded, trying to pull away. The fabric of his shirt made a soft rustling noise as it stretched out even more.

"Shut your mouth, Potter," Snape snapped. "Calm down."

"Calm _down?" _Harry echoed in outrage. "You nearly smothered me, and now you've locked me up in this—this…" He glanced around wildly, "bloody _parlor_…with _you_!" Another vicious tug. "Let me out!"

"Get control and I will explain."

"Sod off!"

Snape's hand shot up out of nowhere and squeezed Harry's cheeks together, hard. Harry stopped squirming.

"_Ow_…" he croaked through puckered lips.

Lifting the boy's chin, Snape forced eye contact. "Get. Control."

"Let me go."

Snape cocked his head in a challenging manner, increasing the pressure of his fingertips. Stiffening for only a brief instant, Harry eventually relented…and relaxed. Snape released him, t-shirt and all.

The corners of Harry's eyes watered as his cheeks pulsed with bee-sting pain, but he angrily swallowed the pressure in his throat and glared. "What are you _doing_ here?" Harry sniffed, the running of his nose rekindled.

"I could ask you the same question—"

"Ask Sirius!" Harry nearly screeched. "He's right upstairs—unless you're _frightened_ of him…"

"Frightened of your mangy Mutt?" Snape scoffed, throwing Harry a loathing glance. "You wish, Potter."

"What do you want?" Harry cut in. He was boiling, and his cheeky remarks were gratifying him; they felt great.

Snape smirked. "Answer my question."

"I asked mine first…"

Stretching his eyebrows to the ceiling in a bored way, Snape pinned Harry with an indefinite glower.

Harry smoothed out his t-shirt, returning the stare. But after a while, the silence began pricking at his patience. He huffed. "I came here with Sirius and Remus. What's it to you?"

"Tread carefully, boy."

"Why? I don't have to—"

"I see Black is doing proper work of rearing you up to his standards," Snape sneered, disgusted. "Perhaps you'd have fared better with the Muggles…"

Harry's heartbeat throbbed in his throat. He knew that Snape was only riling him up to get under his skin, to entice him into popping off again—probably to give Snape a valid excuse to split his lip. It's not like there were any House points he could drain.

"If you want Sirius, he's upstairs," Harry reemphasized as emotionlessly as he could. "I don't know why you had to drag me in here—"

"What I want is for you to answer my question, Potter," Snape retorted. "I have no desire to engage in Black's thick-headed drivel."

"It's only 'cause you're bigger than me," Harry choked out, feeling his temper flare up. Sirius never did this—never took advantage of his authority. And yet, Harry wouldn't dream of speaking to his godfather with such venom. Thinking about the argument they'd had this morning made Harry ache with shame.

But Snape didn't say anything to this; his face was stone.

Harry swallowed convulsively. "Sirius took me here to show me where he grew up. And it's none of your bloody _business _why." He stopped, not trusting himself to say anything more without derailing completely.

"Such a pair, the two of you," Snape mocked, "disregarding every safety precaution taken in your favor to seek out a petty thrill…

Harry made a face. "What are you _talking about?" _

"I wouldn't expect you to understand, Potter," Snape said with a condescending tug at his lapels.

"_You're_ the one who's peeking through the window like some dodgy—"

"Window?" Snape's eyebrows drew in together.

"Yeah," Harry snipped, "we probably would've been out of here by now if we hadn't spent so much time—"

"What window, boy?" Snape was frowning now.

Harry tilted his head a bit, his eyes blank with uncertainty. "The _window_…" he repeated softly. When Snape still didn't react, Harry elaborated, "You know…the one by the front door. I saw someone looking in, so I figured…" he trailed off, shrugging.

A peculiar shadow passed over Snape's face. "I know nothing of the sort."

A befuddled pause.

"How did you know we were here, then?" Harry asked. Tingles shot through his palms.

Snape's mouth bent subtly as he raised a surly eyebrow. "You should advise Black to keep better watch over his house-elves."

"We don't have house—oh, wait, you mean Kreacher?"

"Its identity does not concern me."

Still rather confused, Harry clutched at the small, twisted peak in the middle of his t-shirt. "I don't get it. How did—when did you talk to Kreacher?"

"Not more than an hour ago, the elf came flailing into Malfoy Manor, screaming about Halfbloods and traitorous whelps invading the Noble House of Black," Snape informed him, as if the explanation were obvious. "Fortunately for you, I was able to track your whereabouts and confirm my suspicions. _You_, Potter, were off gallivanting about the house, just as I assumed."

Snape was at Malfoy Manor? Actually, the longer Harry thought about it, imagining such a Slytherin social call didn't seem so out of the ordinary. But Snape 'tracking his whereabouts' was another thing.

Harry glared in an affronted way. Hadn't Snape signed the guardian transfer papers? "What are you keeping track of me for anyway? I'm fine with Sirius—brilliant actually. Dumbledore seems to think so, anyway." _And so do you_, Harry added silently. "It's none of—"

"None of my business, Potter," Snape finished for him, nodding briskly. "Yes, you've already enlightened me with your juvenile claim."

"But how did you even know where I was if it wasn't you looking in the window?" Harry continued, rather skeptical of the earlier denial. He scowled again. "Don't you have anything better to do than follow me around all summer?"

The black eyes tapered, cat-like. But Snape ignored the goading. "Next time, hold tight to your wand and you'll have nothing to worry about, will you?"

Harry stared at him. He could feel his wand indented into the skin over his hipbone and wondered what Snape was prattling on about. But then he remembered: he'd dropped it at Hogwarts nearly two weeks ago. Harry had only been without his wand for three or four minutes. Could Snape have placed a tracking charm on it in so little time? And why _would _he?

Harry shook his head, feeling the steam billowing in his stomach once more. "You can't do that—"

Suddenly Harry stopped, glimpsing the firm jiggle of the iron doorknob in his peripheral vision.

Remus. Or was it Sirius? Harry didn't care anymore; he started for the door, but Snape caught his arm before he could get very far.

Harry jerked around, furious. "Let me go," he ordered. "I'm already gonna be told off for being down here for so long—"

"Who did you see at the window, Potter?" Snape ground out. His eyes drilled into Harry's and held them.

Slightly stunned, Harry let his mouth hang open. How could it _not_ have been Snape? "I thought you—I mean…I dunno," he eventually stuttered. "The glass was too dirty to see."

"Liar."

"I'm not!" Harry cried, viciously attempting to rescue his arm. "Why would I lie?"

Snape gazed at him strangely for a long moment, allowing the boy to wiggle in his grasp without clenching his fingers any tighter. "Get out of here."

"I'm _trying_ to," the boy argued, glancing at the door.

"No, you fool," Snape spat. With a tug on the slender bicep, he drew Harry in, clarifying, "Get out of the _house_. Make use of your pathetic whining and persuade Black and the werewolf to take you and be gone."

"_You_ persuade them," Harry shot back. _Bloody_ c_oward_. "And quit following me everywhere. It's getting on my nerves…"

Snape's jaw throbbed in a threatening manner, but after a short moment, he released the boy abruptly, sending him stumbling over his shoestrings. "Tell them," he restated. "Fake a stomachache—anything—just _go_."

"You hauled me all the way in here for _this_?" Harry couldn't believe it. He studied his professor's face for another instant, scratching at the warmed patch of skin on his cheek. "What are you gonna do, then?"

But Snape said nothing as he unlocked the door and dismissed Harry with an exasperated flick of his fingers. Grumbling obscenities under his breath, Harry strode toward the doorknob.

"Potter," Snape called after him.

Grasping the iron handle, Harry glanced over his shoulder.

"You should know that as a result of your unfailing impertinence," Snape began, sliding his wand into the sleeve of his robes before straightening himself up importantly, "I'm afraid Gryffindor will start the year off with a negative point value."

Harry's mouth fell open in protest.

Smirking shrewdly, Snape took hold of his lapels. "Good day." He spun around smartly and vanished into thin air, leaving Harry speechless.

* * *

In a daze, Harry dawdled away from the parlor, stewing over Snape's words...and his weirdness. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice Remus rounding the corner until he had grabbed Harry's shoulders with both hands to keep them from colliding.

"Oops," Harry said vaguely, once he'd righted himself. He glanced up at Remus. "Sorry…"

"Harry," Remus began, still palming the boy's shoulders, "where did you come from? Where were you?"

"Huh?" Harry's lids fluttered, the fogginess beginning to lift.

"I heard a noise from downstairs and came up to search," Remus explained. "I was about to check on you two—why aren't you on the top floor with Sirius? Does he know you're down here?" His eyes scanned the row of closed doors to Harry's right. "Is Sirius here with you?"

The barrage of questions bounced around Harry's brain like popcorn.

He moistened his lips, trying to decide which inquiry to tackle first. "Sirius?" Harry settled for clarification—the safest choice.

"Yes, Sirius," Remus affirmed impatiently, nodding. "Your _godfather_. Where is he?"

Remus' hands felt hot through the thin cotton of Harry's t-shirt. Harry hunched up his shoulders a bit in discomfort, but Remus didn't seem to notice. "He's upstairs."

"Upstairs?"

Harry cast the man a squinty look. Remus knew how to play the game as well. "Uh huh," Harry replied. "He said that I—"

"Why are you by yourself?" Remus cut in; his concerned eyebrows immediately tilted with accusation.

And Harry, noticing the change in atmosphere right away, shifted and glanced away. "I needed the toilet…" he stated quietly, blamelessly.

"The lavatory's that way," Remus emphasized this bit of information with a jerk of his head toward the open door. "You came from a different direction."

Harry's insides crinkled. His good sense of preservation screamed at him to simply explain about Snape and the parlor. But the words seemed to freeze on his tongue. The intense black of Snape's warning eyes flashed around in his mind instead, ordering him to get out of Grimmauld Place. Harry could care less about the majority of rubbish Snape spouted off on a daily basis. This, however, was different.

And Harry cared more about Sirius' safety at the moment than his own pride.

"I know," the boy mumbled, his gaze slipping to the floor. "I turned the wrong way—" Remus' index finger found its way under Harry's chin and lifted it. A slow burn crawled into Harry's cheeks.

"And?" Remus prompted calmly, lowering his hand.

Harry stared at the thin nose in front of him, unable to speak. The truth was bizarre and would take too long to explain. Not to mention, Sirius would be furious at Snape for dragging Harry off, and his godfather didn't need anything else to worry over.

But for some reason, Harry couldn't lie either. The quick wit that usually sprang up so easily in these dead-end situations had failed him miserably.

"_You,_" Remus began stiffly, "are in a lot of trouble."

The announcement made Harry's stomach tighten. He peeked up guiltily into the hard eyes. "What for?" he demanded.

Remus planted his hands on his hips and looked at Harry as if he couldn't believe what he'd just heard. "What _for_?" he repeated emphatically. "You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about, Harry—"

"I had to pee!"

Remus shook his head, holding his ground. "Not in every room on the third floor, you didn't."

A stretch of silence floated by.

"I didn't go in every room…" Harry muttered, knowing his objection was pitiful.

As expected, Remus was not amused. "Being here in London is difficult for Sirius…we talked about this."

Harry's thumb traveled to his teeth. "I know…"

"Yes, I would hope," Remus replied. "You should also know that he's been rather easy on you today, and I don't think you're being fair about it—"

"You're not being fair at all!" Harry cried, his feelings injured; he forced a tight swallow. He'd given Sirius his space in Regulus' room, hadn't he? What else should he have done?

"I don't appreciate being shouted at," Remus told him, the corners of his own eyes drawing together with silent hurt.

"Neither do I…"

"Well, you've been in quite a foul mood all day, I'm afraid," Remus continued, raising his voice slightly, "and I'll not stand for—"

Harry pushed past him, not caring to hear another word, but Remus took a firm hold of his arm, pulling him away from the stairs.

"I'm gonna go find Sirius!" Harry nearly growled, feeling mutinous.

"No, you're going to stay _right_ here and calm yourself," Remus countered. "What's gotten _into_ you, Harry?"

Harry's eyes stung; he felt like a fool. "I'm tired of being jerked around," he said, his voice cracking.

"And I'm getting rather tired of your dramatics, young man," Remus humorlessly asserted; strands of fringe had fallen forward and mingled with his dark-blond brows, but that didn't take away from the seriousness in his stare. "You're getting a bit old for these tantrums—"

"What's this?"

Both Harry and Remus snapped their heads toward the top of the staircase; Sirius peered down at them in worry.

_Get out of the house_, Harry kept hearing Snape's voice echo in his head over and over.

"Your godson is in need of a good pop on the behind," Remus said quietly, flicking his eyes away when Harry spun around in anger and embarrassment.

"I _am_ not!"

"Harry, mind your mouth, please," Sirius told him softly as he began descending. He frowned curiously at Remus. "Why? What's happened?"

Remus waited until Sirius reached the landing. "Did you know he came down here by himself?"

"The loo upstairs had a rat in it, Sirius!" Harry nudged his way in before his godfather had a chance to get tetchy. "And the toilet didn't flush—"

"A tidier toilet wasn't all he went looking for," Remus interjected.

"I took a wrong turn!"

Sirius gave both of them a funny look, but his eyes landed on Harry. "I was beginning to wonder why you hadn't come back," Sirius commented with the tiniest of grins. "I thought you'd fallen in…"

Harry's rigid shoulders instantly settled as he studied the twitch of mirth in Sirius' expression; he hadn't expected that reaction.

But Remus only stared at his friend. "You don't have anything else to say to him?" he asked after a moment.

Sirius glanced over at Remus sharply, inquisitively, and Harry noticed that his godfather's eyes were a bit cloudy, as if he'd just woken up from an afternoon lie-in. "What should I say?"

Remus snorted quietly. "_What_ should you_ say?" _he repeated. "Harry's been running around the top two floors of this house unaccompanied, and you've _nothing_ to add?

"He hasn't been running about, Remus," Sirius retorted stormily; the hazy look in his eyes had vanished. "_I'm_ the one who left him in the bathroom—"

"And he should've gone right back!" Remus cut in, the volume of his gruff voice amplified with frustration. "You've taught him better than that!"

Harry stood watching, his teeth clamping around his bottom lip.

"Didn't you hear what he said?" Sirius cried. An emphatic hand shot out in his godson's direction. Harry jolted back a bit, blinking at it.

"Of _course_ I did," Remus retorted impatiently.

"Well, I doubt he fancied wetting his shorts in the middle of the corridor. You have no right to jump all over him for that—"

"You're missing the point, Sirius…"

"Am I?" Sirius was glaring now.

"_Yes_," Remus nearly hollered, "you are!"

"And _you're_ completely out of line, Remus," Sirius accused, his gray eyes darkening. "I made the mistake, not Harry. But if he had, I'm more than capable of handling it." He flicked his pained gaze to the wall. "Just leave him alone."

Gripping the end of the banister with all of his might, Harry held his breath, digging his nails into the glossed wood. He'd completely mucked everything up. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_! Remus' chest was rising and falling with deliberately slow breaths; Harry didn't dare look up into his face, but he could feel the quiet hurt reverberating—around the _both_ of them.

"I haven't labeled Harry as a delinquent, Sirius," Remus said quietly. "I'm only trying to help…"

Sirius stared at the floor for a long moment, saying nothing.

Remus expelled a gusty sigh, and then, as if suddenly noticing the boy to his right for the first time, Remus stopped, the angry, taut creases in his face slowly collapsing as his eyes dragged over a flushed Harry. "Are you all right?" Remus asked, leaning down.

Abandoning his languishing stance, Sirius moved a step closer, his own features instantly morphing with concern as he crouched. "Harry, let your breath out," he commanded.

Hot air tickled Harry's nose as his lungs relented. His eyes danced over both of their faces, back and forth as they inspected him. How long had he been holding his breath? A minute? Maybe two? Harry couldn't remember anymore. He felt terrible for making Remus fight with his godfather. Truly nauseous. Telling them what had happened with Snape couldn't have been any worse than this.

All of a sudden, Harry had a new thought. His brain crackled and sparked with the obvious idea. He grimaced.

"My stomach…" Harry groaned, squeezing a handful of his belly through his shirt and allowing his head to lull back a bit.

"Your stomach?" Sirius echoed.

It wasn't really a lie. Any more bickering and Harry was sure he would sick up on their shoes.

"It hurts," Harry reported, appraising Sirius' reaction from behind his droopy lids.

Consecutively, Remus and Sirius touched their knuckles to Harry's cheeks. Each man frowned deeply.

"He's warm," Remus stated, glancing quickly, almost shyly, over to Sirius, who met his friend's gaze—a wordless apology. Still, Remus removed his fingers and tucked them into a fist behind his back, stepping away a bit.

Sirius relocated his hand to the boy's forehead and kept it there. "Does a fever go along with a stomachache?" he asked Remus.

Harry continued to glance fervently between the two of them.

Clearing his throat softly, Remus lifted his brows. "Not necessarily."

_Shit_, Harry thought.

"But it could…" Remus concluded.

Biting back a sigh of relief, Harry looked up at his godfather. "I'm sorry for being a bother, Sirius," he mumbled, feeling the feather-light brush of fingertips against his hair. Surprised, Harry located their owner.

"You're not a bother, Harry," Remus said, somewhat sadly. He pulled back his hand again. But his face had softened with a contrite smile. "I've been a grouch today; I apologize."

Harry's stomach churned guiltily. Yes, he was most definitely going to vomit.

"And I'm sorry, too," Sirius suddenly spoke up. He looked more miserable than all of them put together. "I've been acting like a nutter—do you have a headache?" he directed his question toward his godson before anyone could respond to his declaration of insanity. He felt Harry's forehead again.

Harry shook his head weakly, though his temples were throbbing due to the mess he'd caused. "I'll be all right."

"Come on," Sirius prompted, giving Harry's neck a squeeze, "let's get you home."

Silently, they plodded down the stairs, single-file.

* * *

"Should we take him down to the kitchen with us?" Remus inquired as they passed by Kreacher, still sprawled out on the table, unconscious and breathing deeply.

Sirius wrinkled his nose. "No," he said quickly. "I think it's best if he stays where he is." He started for the stairs.

"Me too," Harry added, following close behind. He couldn't take anymore of the elf's screeching. Glancing over his shoulder at the dark corridor leading to the Entrance Hall, Harry's scalp prickled. How had Sirius _lived _here?

Sighing, Remus blew out the two feeble flames that still wavered over their nubs of wax. "Keep your wand out, Sirius," he advised, casting a final, fleeting glance toward the sleeping house-elf before falling in line.

The clomping of footsteps and creaking steps echoed throughout the dank house as the three of them made their way to the Floo.

Pausing on the faded carpet of the Entrance Hall, a scrawny rat nipped at a matted patch of fur and hurriedly scampered out of the hole in which it had entered.

* * *

Harry stood against the doorjamb of Sirius' bedroom, digging his big toe into the carpet and waiting for his godfather to look up from the same book he'd nicked from his brother's room at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

Sirius noticed him almost immediately. "You're up," he said, turning the thin volume over to rest on top of the comforter. He straightened his back against his pile of pillows with a few nudges from his hands and bare feet. "C'mere, Bub." Sirius patted the still-made bed and smiled. "How's your stomach?"

Instead of responding, Harry dragged himself into Sirius' room and climbed up onto the bed, scooting on his knees until he reached a vacant pillow. He laid his cheek down on the cool fabric and stared at the curly dark hairs on his godfather's arm while he pulled at the pillow's corner with his fingertips.

He felt horrible.

Figuring the boy was still plagued with a stomach ache, Sirius placed the back of his hand against the side of Harry's forehead and smoothed the fringe away.

Harry blinked groggily at the soothing gesture. "Sirius?" he mumbled against the fluff under his cheek.

Sirius stroked Harry's forehead for a bit longer and then shimmied down onto his elbow so he could see his godson's face. "Yes?"

Harry pressed his thumb as deep as it would go into the feathers, swallowing to keep his voice from cracking. "I didn't tell the truth."

TBC...

* * *

They're out of Grimmauld Place! (cheers!) Relieving, I think. :-)

Thank you, Tabitha, for your help with this chapter.

And as always, the reviews have been lovely. Sorry to several of you for the slow replies. I had to squeeze RL stuff in a few days this week. Thoughts on this chapter? I can almost hear your brains churning...


	31. Chapter 31

Sirius had listened quietly while Harry spoke, his lips pursed in a tight line; when Harry mentioned Snape dragging him off into another room, Sirius' breath had quickened, but he said nothing. Such restraint required massive strength, and Harry knew his godfather well enough now to recognize the struggle immediately.

As much as Harry felt like complaining, he hadn't told Sirius about Snape's stake-like fingers boring into his cheeks. His chest hurt, cold and bone-deep, when he had locked eyes with Sirius, even though his own face was half-hidden by the pillow; he had seen the helplessness—the protectiveness—that flashed within the gray. And he knew it wouldn't do any good for his godfather to be aware of his momentary pain.

Harry could be brave too; he'd endure it silently for Sirius.

Loosely hugging his knees now, Sirius focused on the wall in front of him, breathing evenly as he absorbed the information.

Harry propped himself up on his elbow and gazed at a patch on the comforter, his chest thumping; he waited for the explosion, for the scolding—for anything but the stillness.

But all he heard was Sirius blowing his breath out, a soft, blubbery sigh that vibrated his lips.

"You're angry," Harry spoke up, still staring. He couldn't take it anymore.

Sirius shifted, rubbing a hand over his eyes and down his cheek. "No, I'm not."

_Yes, you are_, Harry thought. But he didn't feel like arguing. Instead, he worked a fingertip underneath an arched thread in the quilt and allowed the silence to linger.

"All right," Sirius finally muttered. "I'm angry."

Harry stiffened.

"But not at you," Sirius elaborated, twisting around.

Glancing up in surprise, Harry tossed him a skeptical smirk. "Who then?" Harry asked, pushing himself up and twisting his legs into a pretzel. "Snape?"

"Myself."

Harry hesitated, scratching at his nose. "How come?"

Crossing his ankles underneath his thighs, like Harry, Sirius held his chin in his hand. "Because I'm an idiot." The self-condemnation was muffled and bitter.

"No you're not, Sirius—"

"We should've never gone," Sirius continued, unhindered. "It was selfish of me to force you two along."

"I _wanted_ to go," Harry insisted; the bed frame squeaked as his bouncing movements became more insistent. "You never make me do anything I don't want to do—well, almost anything," he concluded, briefly mulling over his most recent grounding.

"I was awful to Remus…"

"You were only angry 'cause he yelled at me," Harry rationalized, still smarting from _that_ encounter. "He wasn't that sore over it, I don't think."

Sirius arched his brows at him. "I yelled at you as well, you know."

"Yeah, well…" Harry took a breath, shrugging again. "That was different."

"Was it?" Sirius appeared rather interested in the discrepancy, but Harry hoped he wouldn't press the matter. It was difficult to explain.

"Sirius?"

The dark eyebrows perked to attention again.

Hiding his toes underneath his knees, Harry lifted his face, his mouth twisted in pleading. "You believe me about Snape, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Sirius automatically assured him, his tone high and docile. "Why wouldn't I?"

Harry clasped his hands until his thumbs became splotchy red—until Sirius reached over and waggled one free, flexing it back and forth. "Don't do that; it'll fall off," his godfather warned.

"No it won't," Harry murmured with a semi-amused sniff, but he tucked his hands under his thighs anyway.

"Why, Harry?" Sirius restated.

"I don't think Remus would have…"

"Remus cares very much for you," Sirius reminded him. "You know he does—look up at me, please."

Harry obeyed.

"You _know_ he does." The statement was resolute.

"I know," Harry quietly agreed, trying to focus on the gentle throbbing of his trapped fingers. "You think he's angry?"

Sirius shook his head. "Not a bit."

Frowning slightly, Harry stared at his godfather, indecisive. "How do you know?"

"Because I do. Believe me."

Harry hesitated a second. "And you promise you're not?"

"Not what? Angry?" Sirius asked.

Tipping his head twice, Harry's teeth clamped down on the inside of his cheek.

Sirius laced his own fingers together this time and looked out of his bedroom window into the lazy, deep purple of summer's dusk. "Not at you, I'm not," he clarified. "I promise."

"Oh." The vague comment drifted overhead as Harry thought of how to proceed.

But Sirius spoke first. "He placed a tracking charm on your wand?" Though the question was innocent enough, Harry could hear his godfather's self-control crumbling behind it.

"When I dropped it at Hogwarts, I think," Harry told him. He didn't think; he _knew_. His ribs twisted with that familiar longing to keep Sirius out of trouble—keep his emotions from splattering everywhere when his temper erupted. More than anything, Harry didn't want Sirius to worry on his account.

It never worked.

Sirius rubbed his lips back and forth. "Snape's not going to be tracking you for the rest of the summer," he declared, his eyes fierce. "Dumbledore trusted me enough to keep you safe."

"Are we?" Harry spoke up.

Sirius glanced at him. "Are we what?"

Harry swallowed, hoping he hadn't buggered everything for the millionth time. "Safe."

"Harry—" Sirius paused, his hand on his chin now. He studied his godson in a hard, almost hurt way. "Do you feel unsafe?"

Harry's stomach shriveled. He'd done it again. "Not with you," he quickly amended. "But today—"

"Today you felt unsafe," Sirius finished for him, nodding as if he understood.

"Not when I was with—I meant _only_ when I went…" Harry stuttered. He licked his lips. What was he saying? He gazed desperately up at his godfather. "I didn't mean it, Sirius."

"Didn't mean what?" Sirius gently prompted. "Here…" He slid back on the mattress, between the pillows, and rested his back against the headboard. Stretching his arm out, he gestured for Harry to settle in next to him.

Harry followed suit, nestling his shoulder into the dip above Sirius' chest, and allowed his body to sag.

"A few days from now, you won't suddenly be too old for this, will you?" his godfather quipped from above.

"I dunno," Harry said. And in all honesty, he _didn't_ know. Ron was fourteen and _he_ didn't seem any different than before. He'd even let Mr. Weasley give him a hug on the platform this summer.

"No?"

"I just want my Firebolt back…" Harry muttered.

Sirius chuckled, rumbling and warm. Harry smiled; it made him feel good to hear Sirius laugh. They sat quietly for a moment, comfortable in their drowsy heap.

"I thought you'd've knocked Snape flat on his arse by now—"

"Oi…"

"Bum?" the boy corrected.

"Better."

Harry shifted a bit, smiling askance as he maneuvered his feet underneath the quilt. "I'm trying."

"I know," Sirius commended. "I am as well."

"You are?"

"Mmhmm. Though I doubt I've been setting the best example lately…"

Pulling a faltering expression that his godfather couldn't see, Harry flattened out the wrinkles in the sheet with his heels as he tried to remember the last time he'd heard Sirius swear in front of him. He couldn't.

Sirius cleared his throat softly, a gruff whisper. "Do you know what a Death Eater is?" he spoke from over his godson's head.

Harry's insides began to feel squirmy, but he kept still as stone. "No…"

"Did Snape mention anything to you about them?"

More internal squiggling. Harry shook his head. "Huh uh. Why?"

His godfather's sigh mingled among the rasping of crickets. Harry waited. Could that have been a Death Eater at the door? Sirius had said most of them weren't around anymore. _Most_…

"I just—I can't figure him out," Sirius mused out loud.

"Nobody can."

"I should speak to Dumbledore…"

Harry perked up, twisting halfway around. "Tonight?"

"No, not tonight," Sirius muttered.

"When?"

"Well," Sirius began, adjusting Harry against his arm and shaking out the bunched quilt that was loosely clinging to his legs, "we could invite him to your birthday tea."

Harry gawked. "Really?" Morbidly silly images of Sirius' little brother chasing the Grim Reaper with a fork and knife instantly evaporated from his brain.

"It's best if Severus and I stay miles away from each other," Sirius explained. "I'd rather not go to Hogwarts again." His jaw pulsed once. "And bruise my knuckles on his teeth…"

"I get a birthday tea?"

For the first time in several minutes, Sirius gazed down at his godson with a probing half-smile. "Would you rather have a breakfast?"

Harry's eyes went wide. "No," he said with a jerky shake of his head. "Tea's fine. It's just—I've never had it special on my birthday."

"Not ever?" The crooked grin slowly faded.

Feeling curiously shameful, Harry stared at the tented patches of quilt over his toes and shrugged.

"It'll be a new tradition then, won't it?" Sirius proposed, forcing a jovial expression, this one awkward and rubbery.

Harry nodded. And then his stomach gurgled fiercely. He glanced down at it until the growling tapered off.

"Hungry?" Sirius asked.

"A bit."

"That's right," Sirius began, slowly springing his back away from the headboard. "You didn't eat dinner. What time is it? After eight?"

Kicking away the quilt, Harry glanced around for a clock he wouldn't find. "After nine, I think."

"_Is_ it?" Sirius dangled a foot off the edge of the mattress, knowing that his godson was preparing to make a dash to the kitchen.

"All I've had is breakfast crackers and Ginger Ale…" Harry reminded him.

"You were supposed to have a stomach ache, remember?" Sirius raised a meaningful eyebrow.

Harry bowed his head rather sheepishly. "Yeah," he mumbled, "I remember."

Standing now, Sirius leaned over and plucked together the curled pages of the book resting close to Harry's thigh. The boy watched as Sirius picked it up and tucked it away in a single, swift movement.

"Well you can eat and listen at the same time, all right?" his godfather requested. He beckoned for Harry to scoot toward the foot of the bed.

"Okay," Harry piped up, his voice slightly jarred by his bouncing along.

Listening was easy enough; Harry could do that.

* * *

The various-shaped wedges of orange cheese that had once covered Harry's plate were dwindling.

"So you think Dumbledore knows what Snape was on about, then?" Harry prompted, running his tongue around the inside of his mouth, still waiting to hear whatever it was Sirius had to say. "Is that why you want to talk to him?"

Sirius swallowed his tea with an audible gulp. "Drink your milk down." He nodded toward the small amount of white waiting within the fingerprinted glass.

Complying, Harry kept his impending questions to himself. He eyed Sirius through the filmy tumbler, hoping that his godfather hadn't suddenly changed him mind.

When only a half a slice of cheddar and a few cream crackers remained, Harry drew his knee up on the chair and observed Sirius draining the final drops of his tea.

Harry propped his chin up on his kneecap. "Are you done?"

"Are you?"

"Yeah."

Poking his index finger through the handle of the teacup, Sirius set it down carefully. "You've had enough?"

Harry scrunched up his face a bit at the obvious question. "Yeah…" he drawled slowly.

His godfather nodded to himself.

"What is it?" Harry could hardly contain himself. And for one, awful instant, he wondered if his godfather was reconsidering his leniency. "You said you wanted me to eat _and_ listen to you…"

"I know," Sirius said, glancing up at him. "I'm only thinking." He twisted his teacup along the caramel-colored drips on the saucer.

Staring at the teeth marks in his cheese, Harry took a deep, steadying breath. _Might as well get it over with_, he told himself. "I know your brother was a Death Eater, Sirius," Harry spoke to his plate.

The sound of scraping china stilled.

"You do?"

Harry nodded halfheartedly, his chin nearly touching his chest. "I heard you and Remus talking last night when you thought I was asleep."

Sirius didn't say anything for a minute; he seemed to be chewing over the new bit of information.

Carefully lifting his eyes, Harry studied the unreadable expression across the table. "I should've told you that I knew," he mumbled, glancing back down at the sad-looking remains of his snack. "Sorry."

"I should've known better," Sirius said softly.

Harry's gaze shot back up, searching for fury. But although Sirius had gone back to swirling his cup around the miniature plate, he didn't seem angry.

"It's not really a secret, Bub," his godfather pressed on. "You don't have to be sorry."

"I was sort of half-asleep…"

"You could have asked me about it," Sirius urged. "I wouldn't have minded."

Without realizing he was doing it, Harry began breaking apart tiny chunks of cheese with his fingers and dropping them about the plate. "You seemed upset about it," he tried to explain. "I didn't want to bring it up for no reason."

"I'm not upset—"

"But you _were_, Sirius. I know you were." Harry pinned his godfather with the most serious, sympathetic look he could muster.

Sirius mashed his lips together, staring right back at him. And then he exhaled through his nose. "You're right," he admitted tightly. "I was."

Harry abandoned his cheese.

"But I'm better now," Sirius continued with an honest incline of his chin. "Seeing my old house helped. It wasn't as easy as I thought it would be," he elaborated, "but I think I can let it go now."

Harry's heartbeat was thick. "Were you very close with your brother?"

"Until he made the decision to follow Voldemort, he and I were as good as friends," Sirius replied. His hands lay like lead weights about his cup and saucer.

His godfather never had trouble referring to Lord Voldemort by his name; Sirius didn't seem afraid of the normal, frightening things. At least he didn't show it.

"Is that what Death Eaters do, then? Support Voldemort?" Harry asked, gripping the tabletop with rapidly paling thumbs.

"Yes," Sirius said, nodding solemnly. "They did anyway."

"Do they anymore?" Everything in the house was very serene and still, but Harry felt jittery. The air seemed to spark like static around him. "They're not still around, are they?"

Sirius' eyes glimmered, raw with truth. "I don't know. But most of them are too weak-spirited to act alone. I think that's why they join in the first place; though I'm sure they'd say different…"

"Who are they?" Harry coughed to get rid of the adolescent, croaky sound of his voice.

Sirius frowned. "Do you want some tea? There's still quite a bit of water in the kettle."

"No, I'm all right," Harry quickly assured him. The last thing he wanted was Sirius thinking he was frightened…because he definitely _wasn't_.

He was fine.

"You're chilled," Sirius noted, the volume of his voice sinking with poorly masked concern.

Harry rubbed his hand over the hundreds of little bumps on his bare stomach. "I'm _okay_, Sirius."

His godfather had gotten up from the table but stopped just short of crouching down next to him. Holding onto the edge of the table, Sirius' eyes skirted over Harry in a clinical manner. His frown deepened. "I'm making you a cup," he declared before turning away and heading for the teabags.

Harry slumped down in his chair and closed his eyes, banging the back of his head lightly against the pinnacle rung. For a few moments, Harry rested his head and listened to the clinks of spoons and muffled burbling of the water boiling in the kettle.

It was dark now, and Harry's eyes were beginning to feel tight and gritty. But his mind was racing; he couldn't stop thinking.

"Sirius?"

His godfather dunked the sodden tea bag twice more before plunking it into the sink and carrying the small cup back over to the table. Handing it to Harry, he hoisted himself up and let legs hang, stretching his eyes wide to let Harry know he was listening.

Harry drew both feet up onto the edge of his chair and balanced the china cup on his knee. "Do you think Snape wanted us to get out of Grimmauld Place because he thought a Death Eater might be at the door?"

"I think after what you told me, _Snape _has completely lost it…"

"No, I mean _seriously_," Harry implored. He hugged his knees tightly, just wanting a straight answer. "He had to have a reason—"

"Snape used to _be_ a Death Eater, Harry," Sirius broke in gently. "I can't see why he'd care very much about our welfare unless he was ordered to check up on you."

It felt as if someone had taken Harry's heart in both hands and squeezed. "Ordered by _who_?" he asked, his breath hot and snagging in his throat. He should have _known_ that Snape had once followed Voldemort. Any dolt could sense that.

Sirius looked at him oddly. "By Dumbledore, Bub…"

Harry's head was swimming. Snape _must_ have known who was at the door, then. But if he was on Voldemort's side, why would he want them to get away? Wait…Snape was ordered by _Dumbledore_? But didn't Sirius just say—

"Harry?"

"Hmm?" The boy's eyes snapped forward.

Sirius' face was drawn and sagging with regret. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he said hoarsely, his eardrums thumping.

"You are _not _fine," Sirius shot back, hopping off the table. Loosening the teacup out of Harry's firm grip, Sirius set it down on the table, indifferent to the liquid that sloshed over the rim. Crouching down, he cupped Harry's face in both hands.

Harry slipped his feet off the seat. "Sirius—"

"Listen to me for a minute," Sirius directed softly. "Are you listening?"

Holding onto Sirius' wrists, Harry nodded swiftly.

"You are very safe here." His gray eyes were more intense than Harry had seen them in a while. "So I don't want you worrying—about _anything_. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded again.

Sirius' hands dropped to his shoulders. "I _knew_ I'd put everything horribly the second I opened my big mouth, " he scorned himself, "but I can promise you that whatever Snape had in mind when he tracked you down, we'll figure it out. Don't be frightened…"

"I'm not—"

"And please," Sirius gripped his godson's shoulders tighter, "_please_ don't lie to me. Don't feel like you have to keep things from me for _my_ sake, Harry."

The words nearly ploughed Harry over; he hadn't been prepared for them. Unwelcome tears suddenly congested his throat.

"Let _me_ worry about protecting _you_," Sirius continued. "Not the other way around."

Harry tried to bob his head for a third time, but this one felt too unstable and wouldn't come. He could only stare, furiously blinking back the wetness. Sirius looked as though he had more to add, but he clamped his teeth together instead.

After a quiet moment, he leaned over and pushed Harry's fringe back with one palm, pressing a bristly kiss onto his hairline, directly above his jagged scar. He crouched down again. "We'll work it out, all right?"

Still unable to speak, Harry reached both arms out and wrapped them around Sirius' neck, laying his cheek on his godfather's warm shoulder. He was so embarrassed. He felt like such a baby.

Strong fingers tangled in his hair, and Harry held on with all his strength. He would never, _ever_ lie to Sirius again.

Everything was confusing and wrong, but he felt so much better.

"I'm the biggest wally in the world," Sirius mumbled into the boy's mop. "And I've spilled your tea…"

"I don't care," Harry said. And he meant it. "You're not a wally."

"I've gotten you all mixed up."

Harry lifted his head from Sirius' shoulder. "Snape got me all mixed up—not you," he told him, sniffing heartily. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about him, Sirius—"

"We'll not say another word about it," his godfather asserted, his eyes honest and gentle.

Keeping his hands on Sirius' shoulders, Harry fished around for a brilliant follow-up, but his mind was blank. Wonderfully, blissfully, blank.

"I found my brother's diary," Sirius spoke up.

Harry gasped softly in genuine surprise. The volume his godfather had been toting along was not a book—it was a diary. "You did?" he croaked.

Sirius nodded. "And I'd like you to see it."

TBC...

* * *

A/N: I had a request or two for more Sirius/Harry interaction, so I hope you enjoyed this :-) Yes, Snape was confusing in the last chapter, but since this story is not from his perspecitve, he's going to sneak around and DO a baffling thing or three. Dumbledore will appear in the next chapter or two for Harry's birthday, but if a scene between Dumbledore and Snape before that would help, I'll gladly oblige.

I greatly appreciate your feedback and take it to heart. Thanks, guys.


	32. Chapter 32

**From Chapter 31...**

**"I found my brother's diary," Sirius spoke up.**

**Harry gasped softly in genuine surprise. The volume his godfather had been toting along was not a book—it was a diary. "You did?" he croaked.**

**Sirius nodded. "And I'd like you to see it."**

* * *

**July, 1976**

_Regulus Black blinked his lids against the bunched-up quilt underneath his cheek. Sirius was bloody lucky._ _It wasn't fair. But then again, nothing in Regulus' almost-fifteen years had ever panned out to be particularly brilliant. _

_Every summer since his brother had first come home from Hogwarts, Sirius had been allowed to spend days and days with that Gryffindor tosser. It was worse than slogging around with a Halfblood. And if you hung with that sort, you might as well link arms with a Mudblood. _

_But lately his mum and dad had brushed off Sirius and his blood-traitor friends, pretending like the problem didn't exist—like walking right past a massive spider-shaped ink splotch on white tapestry without even glancing at it. Still smiling at company with glossy teeth that spoke of the Black family perfection. _

_Regulus hadn't even been around this time. He'd gone to tea at Rosier's manor when Sirius popped along through the Floo to Potter's house. Earlier than usual—a whole week sooner. And Sirius hadn't even said goodbye. Granted, they'd nearly come to blows during an argument over an empty toothpaste tube the night before, but his brother always let him know when he was leaving for the rest of summer. _

_Not this time, though._

_And then there were his parents—they weren't speaking to one another. They were barely speaking to Regulus; his mum only flashed him a stretched smile when he came down to breakfast in the morning, and his dad stared into the fireplace, the brandy in his tumbler tilted and gleaming like liquid gold, nearly dribbling over the rim. _

_Bloody berks, the whole lot of them. _

_Longing to squeeze the fluff out of his pillow, Regulus simply gripped the loose fabric and concentrated on keeping his breathing even. Collected and cool—that's how Evan and Severus and Charley Wilkes always seemed. Never afraid; always one step ahead of the rest of the gits in school, even the teachers. Regulus could be like that too. _

_And then whatever had caused his mum's pupils to twitch and her lips to stick to her teeth in a permanent smile—whatever Sirius had done—wouldn't matter anymore. He could make 'perfect' work, and then they wouldn't have to pretend. _

_Regulus clawed his pillow away from his cheek and reached for his night table. Hooking his pointer into the handle of the top drawer, he pulled it out and felt around for his leather-bound notebook. _

_His _diary_, Sirius had dubbed it. Sirius had also told him he was a poof for writing in it, but Regulus didn't care. His brother was just jealous because he wasn't good at penmanship like he was, and he didn't know how to make the invisible ink reappear. At least he hoped Sirius didn't…_



--

**Entry for March 4, 1979:**

_My brother was right._

_R.A.B._

* * *

The round face of the Harry's bedside alarm clock gleamed a peculiar, fish-belly white in the moonlight.

11:52 p.m.

The small stretch of time between now and midnight was dragging—it always did on this night—like a staggering donkey on an uphill climb. Last year, he'd gotten birthday presents for the first time in his life, and Harry had nearly been as floored as the time Hagrid whisked him away to Hogwarts. It was a tingly sort of excitement—the kind that suddenly made his underarms itch and his stomach twirl deliciously.

It was stupid, really.

Harry sucked on his bottom lip until his mouth made a funny _blurping_ noise; sighing, he squeezed the pillow underneath his head and used his forearm to brush away a damp thread of hair that had floated into his vision.

The clock face blurred a bit, but Harry only blinked away the fuzziness and continued to stare as the seconds ticked away, the gentle sound banging against his eardrums like a Congo beat. Traditions were hard to abandon, after all.

To pass the remaining six minutes, Harry's thoughts shifted to the cracked-leather diary Sirius had shown him only two days prior. He'd never mention this to his godfather, but Harry had expected to be exposed to something mind-blowing.

It wasn't like that at all.

Regulus had admitted that Sirius was 'right'—about _what_, Harry wasn't exactly certain. He could only guess that being a faithful splinter in Voldemort's arse wasn't as brilliant as Regulus had figured.

_No shit_, Harry thought. Any git with half a brain should understand _that_ much.

But by the intense way that Sirius had studied the three sketchy entries that followed throughout the months of 1979—scanning the words over and over—Harry knew they were important. Regulus' notes were hastily jotted down, a series of unconnected, juvenile plans of action against the Dark Lord, but they'd meant something to Sirius. His jaw had finally relaxed, his thumbs trailing over the dried, denim-colored ink.

Harry had watched in bemusement as Sirius shook his head, a small melancholy smile on his face, as if he were staring at an old photograph; he didn't get it—didn't know if he was even _supposed_ to understand.

Nevertheless, Harry had given his godfather a half-smile, a knowing grin. And they'd sat quietly for a while until Harry accidentally yawned through his clenched teeth. He found himself tucked in bed ten minutes later. Like now, only Harry hadn't lain awake long enough to watch the whisker-thin second-hand twitch around the clock face again….and again…and again…

The door handle creaked in its latch.

Twisting around, Harry squinted against the filmy darkness. The door squeaked as it was pushed open inch by inch—a broken crescendo.

A barely-whispered swearword drifted over from the threshold after a particularly brassy squeal rent the air. Harry kicked the wrinkles out of his sheets and relaxed. It was only Sirius.

"What're you doing?" Harry mumbled.

A pause. "You're still up?"

"I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

Sirius gave a light sniff. "If it wasn't your birthday in three minutes, I'd hang you out the window by your ankles…"

Harry smiled into his pillow. "No, you wouldn't."

"I wouldn't," Sirius agreed softly, his bare feet padding against the wood floor. "You're right." He sank down on the foot of Harry's bed.

Rolling over to lie flat on his back, Harry tucked both hands behind his damp, shampooed hair and waited for Sirius' silhouette to materialize.

"It's late, nutter," Sirius murmured. He rested his palm over Harry's quilt-covered toes and lightly jostled the dead-weight foot. "Can you not sleep?"

Harry blinked, mentally scavenging for an explanation that wouldn't make him sound like a dolt. _Oh, it's nothing, Sirius,_ he could say, _I'm just staring at a clock I can barely see without my glasses, waiting for my birthday to come, like I'm gonna miss turning fourteen if I don't see midnight …_

_I see_, Sirius would tell him. _And here I thought it was just something ordinary, like insomnia._

Harry wiggled his fingers against the warm, wet splotch on his pillow. No, that definitely wouldn't—

"Harry…"

"Huh?"

Sirius gave the boy's toe a tug. "Can't you sleep?" he repeated.

"I dunno," Harry said with a shrug. "I'm just laying here."

Harry couldn't see his godfather, but somehow, he knew Sirius was grinning softly. "What time is it now?"

"Now?" Harry twisted a bit to catch a glimpse.

"Mmhmm."

"Erm," Harry drawled, squinting. "11:59."

"And how many seconds?"

"_Seconds?_" Harry scrunched up his face at Sirius in the dusky gloom. His godfather gestured toward the clock with a curt nod.

"Check," Sirius told him. "Hurry."

Harry tipped his head back. "Twelve, I think…"

"Eleven, ten…nine—"

"You're mental, Sirius."

"_Seven_," the man resumed with vigor, "six…"

Harry felt a smile stretch across his teeth. He couldn't help it. Sirius had lost his mind.

"Three…two…_one_!"

Tingling all over, Harry held his breath. A lonely cricket chirped from the branches of the tree outside his window.

"You counted down for _that_?" Harry demanded, though his voice was still lofty and slightly giddy.

A slight pause. "You're _fourteen_ now, Bub."

Harry pinched his lips together; damn his grinning. "I know it."

"Can you believe it?" Sirius inquired softly, jiggling Harry's foot again with the heel of his hand.

Harry shrugged to himself. "Why shouldn't I?"

"_Fourteen_," Sirius reemphasized. He gave a gusty sigh. "Merlin's….pink knickers."

Engulfed in pure amusement, Harry laughed, a genuine chortle that bubbled up from his stomach; he stretched an arm out, letting the back of his hand _thunk_ against the vacant space on his night table. "You really are mental."

"You're almost an _adult_."

"I'm not, Sirius," Harry told him, his tone still tilted with jollity. His eyes had adjusted, and he could make out nearly all of his godfather's features, even the cuffs of his pajama shirt.

"Well a _young_ one, anyway…" Sirius clarified.

"I guess."

Sirius smiled warmly at him again. "I want you to have a lovely birthday today, Harry James." He reached across Harry's knee and gave the knobby joint a light squeeze. "All right?"

"Okay." Harry felt his cheeks flush from his inadequate gratitude. The possibility of having a decent birthday was definitely within reach. A brilliant birthday, even. It was already starting off better than any he could remember.

But to be safe, Harry stuck with vague affirmation. He didn't want to disappoint Sirius if his birthday didn't turn out the way his godfather wished it to.

Suddenly, a sharp _plink, plink_ sounded from the window, jolting Harry out of his thoughts.

The mattress springs groaned as Sirius leaned forward to identify the tapping. Harry pushed himself up on his elbows; he reached for the night table, feeling around for his glasses.

A soft, familiar hooting, followed by a chirpy warble tickled Harry's ears. He gasped, kicking away his covers and shooting up out of bed like a Chocolate Frog on the loose.

"_Oi_," Sirius began. Kneeling up, he lunged forward and caught Harry by the waistband of his undershorts. "Let me get the window—"

"I've got it, Sirius," Harry assured him, reaching back to retract the stretched elastic.

"Hold on—" Sirius stopped, expelling a quick breath as he watched Harry clamber toward the rapping noise. He swept over to the lantern and hastily reignited the flame.

"Hedwig!"

"Wait just a moment," Sirius advised, shaking out the flimsy matchstick.

Harry obeyed. He gripped the sill tightly, twisting his torso around. "It's Hedwig, Sirius!" His face was beaming in the yellow lamplight. Harry hadn't seen his owl for nearly two months, since he'd left her at Hogwarts for the summer.

It was only supposed to be for a little while—until the air cleared after Sirius' acquittal, Dumbledore had explained. The owl of The Boy Who Lived was recognized by many, _Daily Prophet_ reporters included, and there was no need for anyone to see a stunning white blur gliding to and from their cozy Edinburgh cabin. For _privacy_, Dumbledore reasoned.

Harry didn't think it would do well for him to mention to the headmaster that people still gawked at him _without_ an owl attached to his shoulder; even the Minister of Magic had somehow found out about his escapade to Knockturn Alley. He was _never _just left alone completely. But Harry knew that Hedwig was safe at Hogwarts—she liked the Owlery—and he knew he would see her again in September.

Striding forward, Sirius gave his godson a sly wink. "Who's the wonky one?" He nodded toward the miniature owl hopping merrily on either side of Hedwig.

"You sent him to Ron on the train, remember?" Harry piped up. "With the letter about Dumbledore getting everything cleared for me to come stay with you…"

"The Owl Emporium sent _that?" _Sirius wrinkled his nose.

Harry stared at the funny expression on his godfather's face. "Ron liked him."

Raising a somewhat contrite eyebrow, Sirius drew in a deep breath through his nose as he sized up the tiny, cavorting fluff ball.

"Can I let them in, then?" Harry asked, the words jamming together as he bounced impatiently on his toes.

"You may want to duck and cover; look at him, flitting about like a—"

"_Please_, Sirius…"

"Go ahead."

"Brilliant!"

The instant the window was cracked open, the gray owl whizzed past Harry's head, a cream-colored envelope fluttering behind until it detached from the tiny foot and smacked against the wall.

* * *

Red and gold metallic-colored sweets littered the quilt by Harry's feet.

"Oh…wait until tomorrow to eat that—"

"It _is_ tomorrow." Harry ran his thumb along the jagged edge of a Chocolate Frog wrapper that was glimmering happily in the lamplight. He gave Sirius a small, crooked smile.

"And you'll still be awake a _day_ from tomorrow if you shove all that in at this hour," Sirius jibed. "You'll end up like the barmy flitter." He jerked his head toward the owl currently zipping to and fro past his head. "Here…" He held out his hand. "Do yourself a favor."

Harry's mouth hung open as if to protest.

"You'll thank me in the morning," Sirius stated, as if he'd just delivered the most solemn news in the world. He clicked two expectant fingers against his palm. "I'll put them in the icebox to keep cool."

"Ugh…"

"Why, _ugh_?" Sirius overdramatized the gagging noise, contorting his face. "They're the best that way."

Harry shook his head in disagreement. "Aunt Petunia always put the leftover chocolates in the freezer," he elaborated. "It made them taste like dust and old ice cubes."

"Opposed to brand _new_ ice cubes?"

Rolling his eyes, Harry snatched up two crinkly handfuls and dumped the lot into the broad, open palm. "I'm not joking, Sirius."

"They'll be in the cupboard when you wake up, then." Sirius pocketed the birthday sweets with a subtle wink. "Unless I get hungry…"

"What!"

"You've got another envelope yet to open," Sirius casually continued, leaning back on his elbows, "on the floor—it's from Ron, I'll bet." His gray eyes shone warmly with mirth.

Harry's eyebrows peaked in remembrance. "Oh, yeah! I almost forgot," he piped up, pushing himself up on his knees; he gripped the quilt with one hand as he carefully bent far over the corner, reaching for the envelope that had drifted to the floor, landing near his bathroom doorway.

Using a single toe, Sirius stretched a leg out and poked Harry in the rear.

"Hey!"

"Whoops." Sirius shot up, grabbing his godson by the ankles to steady him. "Sorry," he said quietly, swallowing a laugh. "Have you got it?"

"Erm…" Harry's voice sounded muffled so close to the floor.

"Here—"

"No, I've got it, Sirius." A small hand swung back to drop the slightly crinkled envelope onto the bed. Harry used his elbows to hoist himself back up, but Sirius tugged on his ankles anyway, sliding his godson back toward the middle.

Harry snatched the envelope as he glided by, climbing over a pillow and bouncing down cross-legged against the headboard when Sirius released him.

"What d'you think it is?" Harry asked. He held the envelope in both hands and felt around a bit with his thumbs. "It's thicker than last year…"

"Open it," Sirius suggested, folding his legs up like Harry.

The boy gazed at the adolescent quill-strokes.

"It's not a Howler, Bub. It won't open itself…"

"You said I had to go back to bed once I opened all my presents," Harry explained, his eyes still glued to the beige paper.

"You've still got _my_ presents to open in the morning," Sirius reminded him.

Harry snapped his head up. "You got me presents?"

"Of course I did…"

Sinking his teeth into his lip to stave off a silly, childish smile, Harry dipped his chin again.

"It's your birthday, isn't it?" Sirius continued, nudging Harry's shoulder with his own. "What'd you think?"

Harry shrugged, feeling a bit bashful without knowing why. It wasn't as if his godfather had never bought him anything before.

He changed the subject, glancing up again. "Hey, Sirius?"

"Yes?"

Harry rested the envelope against this knee. "D'you think Dumbledore would let us keep Hedwig here until school starts? You said yourself we were safe here…"

"We _are_ safe," Sirius assured him.

"So was it really just all about privacy then?" Harry wondered. He didn't think Dumbledore would lie to him—Sirius either. "Hedwig wouldn't have left the wards." His owl toddled over and bumped his knuckles fondly with her beak as if she knew she was being discussed. Harry stroked the soft crop of feathers over her eyes without even looking down.

"Safety barriers are meaningless to owls," Sirius said. "She doesn't know any different."

"But _you_ said—"

"Dumbledore has his reasons for things," his godfather continued, reaching across Harry's lap to run the backs of his fingers over Hedwig's chest. "Not many people are aware of our living here. I reckon Dumbledore wants to keep it that way."

Harry frowned. "Why? Who cares?"

"Well…" Sirius began, resting his hands on his legs once more, "I know it may not make much sense, Harry, but he just wants what's best for us—you know that."

Clunking the back of his head against the wooden headboard, Harry thought about this for a few seconds. "No one's bothered us yet, though," he noted. "I should be able to keep my owl here now, shouldn't I? I mean, he obviously let Hedwig deliver his birthday card to me…"

"We'll see, all right?" Sirius said kindly. "For tonight, I think she'll be just fine here. I'll unshrink the cage in your school trunk."

"Okay." Harry couldn't stifle his smile this time. "Thanks, Sirius."

His godfather reached around Harry's forehead from behind and smoothed his fringe back. "Open that card up before I do it instead. You're killing me."

Still grinning, Harry leaned forward a bit as he slid his thumb underneath the sealing and ripped open the envelope. Tugging out the small card, Harry flipped it open; two rectangular tickets slipped out and floated down to his lap.

"What're these?"

"Look and see."

Harry lifted his face, pinning Sirius with a skeptical squint. "I thought you said you were dying to see what was in Ron's card…"

"Just _look_ at them!" Sirius exclaimed. "Crazy nutter."

"Okay, okay, fine." Harry dangled one leg off of the bed as he studied the tickets. His face instantly morphed with surprise. "Quidditch World _Cup_? Wait, there's actually a World Cup for _Quidditch_?" He jerked his head up at that. "Sirius, we've got tickets!"

"I know."

"We—you do?" Harry's shoulders relaxed. "How?"

"Aside from the fact that you just told me? Well," Sirius tapped his fingers together in mock contemplation, "I got a letter from Molly—"

"You did?" Harry was practically bouncing. "When?"

"About a week ago," Sirius replied, snipping the tickets between two fingers before they flew off the bed. "I take it you'd like to go, then?"

"You're completely mad!" Harry cried. "_Yes_, I wanna go!" He sank down onto his knees, freezing suddenly. "We can, can't we?"

Sirius gave him a strange, disbelieving look before closing his eyes and giving a slight shake of his head. "You can't possibly be my godson," he teased, and then he reached for Harry. "Of _course_ we're going!"

Tumbling forward into the sideways hug, Harry reflexively wrapped his arms around Sirius' ribs.

"Who's the mad one now?" Sirius commented over the dark hair.

"This is brilliant, Sirius," Harry said, mumbling through cheeks that were squashed between Sirius' chest and bicep. "Thank you."

"Thank the Weasleys," Sirius laughed. "This isn't my present, remember—we're just tagging along."

"I don't care. It's still brilliant." Harry squeezed him tighter. "Thanks for saying we could go."

"You would've strung _me_ out the window by my ankles if I hadn't…"

Harry snorted from below. "Probably."

Resting his chin on the top of Harry's head, Sirius' chest rumbled slightly with a silent laugh. "Happy Birthday, Bub."

TBC…

* * *

**Oi. It's been a while. But thank you, _thank you_ for waiting patiently and for the encouraging emails I've received. Yes, teaching is going extremely well, and I somehow have found time to write, which means I'm not as busy as I thought I'd be. :-) And as unfailing as always, ObsidianEmbrace provided major help for me this chapter. Thanks, Tab.**

**Next up: More of Harry's birthday and Dumbledore's visit. **

**Thanks for sticking with me. Hope you enjoyed this one!**


	33. Chapter 33

* * *

"Dammit," Sirius whispered to himself. He puffed out his cheeks with a sigh and smoothed his hair back, holding it away from his face for a moment as he studied the lop-sided cake with disdain. "I'm complete pants at this."

"Just frost it," Remus commented around a mouthful of tea. He swallowed and rose from the table. "Harry's not handing out blue ribbons; he's going to eat it—we all are."

"It looks like rubbish."

"It's _fine_," Remus assured him, leaning his hip against the countertop.

The circular cake sat patiently on the platter, looking very much like a derby hat tipped to one side. Sirius wrinkled his nose at the haughty thing. "I should've just had Molly make it," he muttered.

Remus gawked. "Why on earth would you have done _that?_"

"It's hideous."

"It's not _either_, Sirius—"

"If I may…" a fragile voice interrupted from around the doorway. Both men turned toward its owner. Albus' soft eyes crinkled with warmth. "…Harry's cake appears to be quite a masterpiece," he sincerely affirmed.

Sirius' whole neck flushed pink; he rubbed his palm across the base of it, feeling foolish but saying nothing.

"Will you have some tea, Albus?" Remus offered.

"Oh…yes," Sirius followed up, inhaling deeply as he fumbled for the cupboard. "I've got lemongrass." The hollow sound of clinking china filled the small kitchen. "I think…"

"Thank you," Dumbledore said in a jovial voice. He pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

Suddenly, a throaty shout, followed by a rather triumphant chortle, drifted in from the parlor. Something thudded heavily against the carpet.

"_Nice_ one, Mate…"

Sirius closed the cupboard door slowly, the handle of a teacup circling his pointer like a thick ring. "Oi!" he called into the next room.

A pregnant pause.

"You're not wrestling in there, are you?"

Another pause. Followed by muffled shuffling…

"_Harry…" _he beckoned yet again.

"Yeah?"

"Come in here, please." Sirius caught Remus' eye and winked.

Albus gave the Lazy Susan a spin, chuckling silently as the salt and pepper shakers whizzed past.

A minute later, Harry jogged in, catching himself at the door frame and dangling from it, one-armed. His cheeks were ruddy with exertion and his chest rose and fell visibly as he drew in heavy breaths through his nose. "Yeah, Sirius?" he asked again, his eyes round. Reaching up with his free hand, Harry quickly scratched at the thin layer of sweat hidden under his fringe.

Sirius gave him a strange, amused smirk. "C'mere."

Harry ambled forward, scratching again. He glanced over at Dumbledore sitting placidly at the table. "Did you see Hedwig?" Harry asked him.

"I did," Dumbledore replied with a single nod. "Her cage looks immaculate, if I do say so myself."

Grinning widely, Harry backed up until his bottom bumped into the drawer between Remus and Sirius; it slammed shut.

"What were you and Ron doing in there?" Sirius probed slyly, nudging Harry's shoulder twice with his elbow.

Harry peered up at his godfather. "Nothing." He shrugged and then scrunched up his eyes, considering. "Well…Ron tossed the Quaffle at me and I lost my balance."

"That was the _thud_ I heard?"

"Yeah," Harry confirmed almost sheepishly. "Sorry."

"It's all right," Sirius said softly, smiling a bit. "Just be careful. Wait until after tea; you two can play with your new Quidditch set outside."

"We will."

"You caught it, then?"

"Yeah, of course," Harry muttered, distracted. He leaned back on his elbows. "Hey, Sirius, is that my cake?"

"_Oi_," Sirius piped up, hunching over sideways to block Harry's view. "Don't look yet. It's not finished."

Harry grinned again. "Can I have a piece?"

"It's not frosted yet, nutter—"

"Can I frost it?"

"No!" Sirius exclaimed mirthfully, giving Harry a deft poke in the armpit. "Go play."

Smiling vaguely and shrugging away from the gesture, Harry slipped the teacup off of Sirius' finger and ran his thumbnail along the rim. "Ron and I are starving," Harry informed him. "Can we eat soon?"

"You can have a cup of tea with us, if you'd like," Remus chimed in. He reached around and gently removed the cup from Harry's hands when, unconsciously, the boy began swinging it from his thumb.

Harry tucked both hands behind his back, allowing Remus to take the teacup from him. Sucking on his lower lip and bumping the small of his back against his knuckles, Harry carefully avoided eye-contact with Remus, still a little unsure of where he stood with his former professor after their series of arguments over the past few days. Remus had wished him a very happy birthday, of course, though in a somewhat reserved manner, and had arranged—and rearranged—his present for Harry with the others on the parlor table.

Harry had watched him from the doorway, noticing more than ever before how mild—how infinitely quiet—Remus really was. Knobby shoulder blades had nudged the holes in Remus' drab-colored cardigan as he leaned over to smooth out a crease in the faded wrapping paper.

Suddenly feeling the urge to apologize, Harry'd chewed on his bottom lip. But Remus had turned around then, smiling softly, the way he always did, and the words congealed into lumps on Harry's tongue. He'd swallowed them instead.

_Remus cares for you very much_. Sirius' words from the previous night floated around in Harry's brain like a thick mist.

Standing at the counter, Harry chanced a glance at Remus now. Remus was smiling again, his brown eyes warm and slightly creased around the edges. And Harry felt his nerves settling a little. There was no lingering anger or accusation in Remus' stare. Just something tranquil and genuine—though undefined. Something that was just Remus.

Harry's lip popped back from his teeth with a quiet slurp. He gave Remus a testing flicker of a grin, a rather pathetic half-smile.

The thin, sandy brows arched in subtle response.

"Although I do believe Madame Pomfrey would object," Dumbledore commenced, "I would adore three lumps of sugar in my tea instead of two, Remus." The mirthful expression behind the beard crinkled the old man's face.

On cue, the quiet shriek of the kettle amplified.

"Oh…" Remus chirped in surprise; he glanced down at the small teacup as if suddenly remembering it was in his grasp. "Of course, Albus." He turned from the counter.

"I can do it," Harry offered, reaching for the cup and plucking it from Remus' slack hold.

A cloud of vapor gushed from the copper spigot while the pot wailed in scalding despair.

"Careful of the steam—"

"I always am, Sirius."

His godfather gave a soft snort as he took a cautionary step forward anyway. "You nearly blistered your hide clean off last week with that coffee you were handling…"

"No, I didn't," Harry calmly countered, as he slowly lifted the kettle from the stove in a firm, finger-tip grip. "That was you." Harry grinned naughtily to himself in the midst of his concentration.

Frowning, Sirius pondered that.

"He's quite all right, Padfoot," Remus said with the lightest of chuckles, watching as Harry clamped his lips together and eased the heavy kettle onto the nearest cold burner. Reaching into a dented tin, Remus maneuvered several pinches of dark, dried leaves into a tea strainer and passed it to him.

* * *

"I want that piece. It's massive."

"Shut it, Ron," Harry murmured, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on not smearing too much chocolate frosting with the edge of the knife. He didn't want to muss Sirius' hard work.

Ron sat up straighter, clearly affronted. "It doesn't have to be perfect, Harry, we're only going to obliterate it…"

"I don't want it to fall apart."

Sirius scooted a small, white plate in Harry's direction. "That makes two of us," he muttered.

Smiling distractedly, Harry held his breath as the butter knife clinked against the bottom of the cake platter. He paused, the utensil poised in mid-air like a garden spade. "Do I scoop it out now?"

"No, mate," Ron said, all-too dryly, "you smash your face in it."

Harry snapped his head up, his eyebrows pinched. But Ron was grinning broadly at him, his freckles smudged together against his pink cheeks, and Harry found it difficult to remain annoyed. He usually did.

"Professor, do you want this one?" Harry nodded toward the Headmaster, who was surveying the spectacle with interest.

A hunk of crumby frosting detached itself from Harry's butter knife and plopped on the table. He stole a quick glance at Sirius.

His godfather only pressed his lips together, trying to cage his smile; the chunk of cake remained.

"Thank you, child, but this is _your_ birthday tea," Albus said quietly, as though his words were quite profound. "Therefore, you shall receive the first piece."

Ron's nose wrinkled in slight disappointment, but he forced a weak smile when Harry caught his eye.

Three minutes later, five forks sank slowly into moist triangles of yellow cake.

"This is brilliant, Sirius," Harry slurred through stuffed cheeks.

Ron merely grunted in agreement, his shaggy, red head bowed toward his plate.

Harry watched as Sirius, hiding another beam, reached over and used his thumb to wipe away a stray smudge of frosting near Ron's nose. Ron barely noticed.

Sirius caught Harry's eye and winked his thanks. Swiping the back of his hand across his mouth, Harry hooked his sock-clad feet around the rungs of his chair and grinned.

* * *

The scent of shampooed hair and clean laundry wafted about the two pajama-clad boys as they lounged on the floor in front of the fireplace, waiting. Harry and Ron had taken turns using the upstairs shower, which, collectively, had spanned no more than seven minutes at most.

"That was wicked of Dumbledore to give you this, mate," Ron said thoughtfully as he brought the small Chaser's badge closer to his face. He ran his index finger over the thick, red embroidery.

Harry, sleepy and sore from dashing about on his Firebolt for nearly two hours, rested the back of his head against the edge of the sofa cushion behind it and stuck his feet out, allowing them to fall wearily into a wide 'V'.

"I wonder why he waited until now?" Ron continued. He placed the badge on his t-shirt and glanced down, puffing out his chest.

"Dunno." Harry alternated clutching his new snitch and rotating it around and around in his palm. He eventually switched hands; the metal was warm.

"Where are you gonna keep it?"

Harry shrugged. "Dunno yet."

"With your invisibility cloak?" Ron suggested.

Harry shook his head. "No."

"With that bag of stones Sirius gave you?"

"Huh uh."

Ron thought about this for a moment. "Where, then?" James' badge flipped over and fluttered down from Ron's t-shirt.

Harry leaned forward, holding out his hand for it. "What if I pin it on my Quidditch uniform?" He squinted up at Ron as he ran the pad of his thumb over the tiny, red and gold lion. "Next to mine, maybe.

"But you're a Seeker, Harry," Ron reminded him. "Your dad was a Chaser."

Harry fingered the snitch with his other hand. "So what?"

Suddenly, the fireplace erupted in a green haze. Ron immediately tucked his long legs beneath him and sat up on his knees, abandoning his earlier assertion. "Oi!"

"No need to shout, Ronald…"

"Hey, Hermione," Harry greeted with a smile, scooting closer to the dusty image of Hermione's head floating among the flames.

"Happy birthday, Harry!" the girl said, grinning broadly enough to expose her large front teeth.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, feeling his neck heat up. He was never very good at accepting birthday wishes properly. His stomach tingled with excitement over Hermione's brief visit, though. "How's France?"

"Oh, it's all right, I suppose," Hermione said in an off-handed manner. "It was a very short holiday, and we're leaving tomorrow. But I'm rather glad of that. I've got one more essay to finish before I have to pack again."

Harry twisted the loose fabric of his pajama bottoms between his fingers. Last year, he would have ached with jealousy over Hermione's nonchalance about travelling. Tonight, he didn't mind as much.

"How's living with your godfather? Is it all right?" the girl continued. Her hair was pulled back, but as always, a few loose strands were drifting freely.

Harry opened his mouth.

"_No_, Hermione, it's a right drag," Ron broke in, rolling his eyes. "He lives with _Sirius_; how do you _think_ it's been?" Harry gawked at him, but Ron paid little mind—only smirked impishly to himself at his own wit.

Hermione sucked in a good deal of air, her eyebrows pinched together tightly. "I wasn't asking _you_."

"Well, who—"

Harry shoved him, unbalancing the damp-fringed red-head before he could go any further. "Bloody _hell_, Ron," Harry muttered under his breath.

"I was _only_ joking," Ron amended—half snickering, half affronted—as he steadied himself, straightening the hem of his button-down pajama top.

"Er—thanks for the sweets, Hermione," Harry changed the subject, "and the frogs..."

"Were they all right?" Hermione queried with a conscientious squint. Inhaling deeply again, she explained, "Well, I wasn't sure if you'd like any of the French chocolates from the sweet shop next to the café, so I ordered you a parcel from Honey Dukes."

"You've got sweets, mate?" Ron exclaimed, perking up. "Where?" he asked, looking around as if he expected them to appear before him.

Harry folded his legs underneath his thighs and rubbed at the achy muscles in his left shoulder. "In the cupboard, I think…"

"Wicked!" Ron scrambled to his feet, nearly tangling and tripping over his long legs in the process.

Although the emerald flickering obscured Hermione's features, Harry could clearly discern her vexed expression.

Harry gave her a tired smile and screwed a knuckle against the dryness in the corner of his eye.

"You should get some sleep, Harry," Hermione said. Sparks erupted and drifted toward the chimney as Hermione stuck her wrist through the Floo to check her watch.

"Come off it, it's not even midnight yet," Harry mumbled. "I haven't played Quidditch in a while, and it makes me tired. Plus, it's my birthday. You stay up for yours, don't you?" He doubted there was any need to mention his late-night countdown with Sirius.

Hermione sniffed. "Not if I can't keep my eyes open," she said, very seriously.

"I'm not even—"

Suddenly, the rasp of pots and pans scraping against wood and clanking into each other floated in from the kitchen.

Harry sat up, listening. "They won't be in that cupboard, Ron," he called out after a moment. The clanging ceased. "Look in the one by the icebox."

The sound of scuffling feet quickly followed.

"So Sirius said you could go to the World Cup?" Hermione's inquiry succeeded in refocusing Harry's thoughts as he settled back against the foot of the sofa.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. We're both going."

"Is he asleep?" Hermione asked.

Harry squinted at her. "Who? Sirius?"

"Who else?"

"Erm…" Harry began, glancing over his shoulder as if his godfather would suddenly appear on the sofa cushion behind him. "He's probably still in the parlor with Remus."

Hermione's eyes stretched wide. "Professor Lupin?" she piped up. "He's here?"

"Why wouldn't he be?"

Sauntering in with a mouthful of melted chocolate, Ron chomped a few times and swallowed, wiping his mouth with his forearm. By the tell-tale sound of crinkling wrappers, Ron's pockets were stuffed full.

Hermione frowned up at him in disapproval. "Those are Harry's birthday sweets, Ron! They were in the cupboard for a reason, you know…"

"Oh, lay off, Hermione," Ron grumbled, making a face. Kneeling down, he plopped back on his heels with a papery _crunch. _"Harry said I could, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Harry said quickly, shaking his head as if to brush away the issue. "It's fine."

Biting off a tiny, webbed foot, Ron grinned rather smugly.

Hermione gave a dramatic sigh. "_Is_ he here, then?" Her eyes darted back and forth between the two.

"You mean Dumbledore?" Ron demanded.

Gritting back a scowl, Hermione began to close her eyes in exasperation, but suddenly, they popped open again in interest. "Dumbledore's here as well?"

"No, not anymore," Harry replied, shaking his head. "He left over an hour ago."

"Longer than that," Ron added under his breath. He scrunched up his lips as he concentrated on slitting open another sweet wrapper with his chocolate-smudged fingertips.

All of a sudden, Harry's sat up straight, his mouth slack.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

Harry's shoulders slumped. "Shit," he whispered, dejected.

"Harry!" she reprimanded mildly.

"What's wrong, mate?" Ron spoke up, draping his willow-branch arms over his knees.

"I—" Harry began, and then stopped, sighing through his nose. He slouched again, digging his shoulders into the sofa. "I'm an idiot, that's what…"

"Why?"

Harry dragged his fingertips through his wet hair, fanning back his fringe. "I was supposed to talk to Dumbledore—me _and_ Sirius—to ask him about Snape." He ran his palm back and forth over the top of his head, mussing up the dark strands into grass-like disorder and sighed again.

"What about Snape?"

"Yeah, what about him?" Ron supplemented.

Stretching his legs out once more, Harry scratched at his forehead, wondering why he hadn't informed Ron sooner about what had happened at Grimmauld Place.

For the next several minutes, Harry related as much as he could recall, carefully bypassing his argument with Remus, how for an instant he was almost positive their former professor was going to whack him one for his insolence.

Hermione rolled her shoulders and neck a bit as Harry finished but focused with a wrinkled brow all the same.

"Can't you just come through for a bit?" Harry proposed, grimacing in sympathy for Hermione's stiff neck and aching knees.

"Oh, I'm all right, Harry," she replied. "I'm on a pillow. Besides, you know I'll never leave. Mum's going to tap my back when it's time to get our things 'round."

Harry lifted his knees to his chest and hugged them. Hermione had a point; she'd never leave.

"Snape is such a ruddy git," Ron said bitterly. "Sneaking about wherever he pleases..."

"Well, he must've had a purpose for dragging you off like that, wouldn't he?" Hermione said.

Harry shrugged. "You'd think," he mumbled. "But it's not like you'd ever know it. Snape's always been dodgy."

"He wouldn't have warned you to be cautious without a good reason, Harry," Hermione said. "You know that."

"No I don't…"

Hermione gave him a _look_.

"I never know anything," Harry continued. He picked at the tiniest of snags in his t-shirt.

"So ask Sirius about it," Hermione told him. "Maybe he _did_ talk to Dumbledore…while you and Ron were outside."

Harry stared at her. "He wouldn't've asked Dumbledore about Snape without me."

"Why not?" Ron suddenly piped up with a quiet snort.

Flipping his head toward the odd noise, Harry scowled inquisitively. "What do you mean?"

Ron glanced alternatively at the two of them. "Well don't _your_ parents talk about all the exciting stuff when you're not around?"

Hermione blinked thoughtfully. "Not really."

Harry shook his head as well, agreeing. Sirius wasn't the most secretive of people. He didn't _think_ so, anyway…

Ron let out another snort of laughter, rocking his bare heels back and forth against the carpet. "I'll bet that's what he's doing now," Ron wagered, jerking his head over his shoulder. Harry's eyes followed the movement.

"What?" he nearly snapped. Ron was beginning to claw at his nerves again.

The lanky boy leaned in. "What do you _think_?" he whispered emphatically. "Lupin and Sirius are probably in the parlor right now—talking about Snape. I heard them mumbling."

Hermione sniffed, pulling a face. "Oh, for goodness' sake, Ron…"

Harry gazed into the empty kitchen, soaking in the possibility. "Sirius doesn't keep secrets from me," he said quietly, almost to himself. Oddly, though, his stomach prickled at the thought, his cheeks warming.

"Stop it _right_ now, Ronald," Hermione scolded. "You're only creating problems that don't exist—" She paused a moment, turning, her head disappearing into the hazy flames. When Hermione returned, she cleared her throat. "I've got to go now," she informed, though she was looking pointedly at Harry. "Just go in there and ask him. He won't mind."

Harry didn't say anything, his teeth taking hold of his bottom lip.

What if Sirius really _did_ mind? What if Dumbledore had mentioned something that Sirius didn't want Harry to know?

His hands began to sweat.

"Tell Sirius I said hello. And Professor Lupin…" Hermione said quickly. "I'll see you two next week…at Ron's."

Harry nodded.

"Happy birthday!" she called again before popping out the Floo. The flames died down immediately and flickered to nothingness.

* * *

"I don't buy it, Remus."

Remus laced his fingers together, the points of his elbows resting on the arms of the parlor chair opposite Sirius. "I doubt his intention was getting you to _buy_ anything," he suggested. "Albus only spoke of what he knew."

"I'm not saying he was being devious," Sirius said quietly, resting the sole of his foot on the edge of the table in front of him. "I just always feel as though I'm only getting _part_ of the truth." He relaxed into his heavily-cushioned chair, but his shoulders remained rigid as he met Remus' gaze, his own eyes fogged with worry. "Am I completely _off_ about this?"

Drawing in a measured breath, Remus shifted in his seat and re-crossed his legs. "I suppose that Severus _would_ be a bit on-edge about Harry's safety after what happened in June—"

"He has no right to track Harry's every step," Sirius said firmly, shaking his head. "He's waiting for me to make the slightest mistake as a father. This has nothing to do with Harry. It's me he wants to torment."

"Oh, I doubt that, Sirius," Remus said, his voice gentle, though edged with honesty. "If that were the case, Severus wouldn't have signed his name as a witness for Harry's adoption. You know that."

Sirius blew out a gust of air and dropped his head back until it hit the top of the cushion. "I know."

* * *

Harry jumped with the sudden pain that pierced his torso. Ron's elbow had accidentally jammed so sharply into Harry's ribs that it made his gut clench.

Resisting the urge to bounce his fist off of Ron's bicep as hard as he could, Harry turned from his place against the wall outside of the parlor and mouthed his displeasure.

"Sorry," Ron mouthed back, his features crumpled with remorse.

Harry breathed evenly, willing his heart to stop its noisy thudding. A large part of him wanted to simply peek around the parlor threshold and join in the conversation. But the smallest inkling prodded him to wait, to cling to his place on the wall like a suction cup and just listen.

Sliding over the tiniest bit, Harry pressed the back of his head against the wall. He pinched Ron's t-shirt between his fingers and gave a light tug. Ron complied, silently inching nearer.

The warm, muttering tones of his godfather's voice drifted from around the corner again. "But which one of them would have been looking in the window? Those that knew my brother are either dead or in Azkaban. They were still there when I left."

Remus mumbled something that Harry couldn't quite make out. He must have been sitting close to the window.

"Peter wouldn't know where this cabin is," Sirius responded. "It's completely secluded."

Harry held his breath, his heart racing again. _The rat in the bathroom._

"…around London…Grimmauld Place," he heard Remus say.

"What would he hang around there for?" Sirius demanded. "He's got no reason to anymore."

"_Harry_," Ron barely whispered.

Without missing a beat, Harry held his finger up to his lips and then held it close to Ron's face. "Hang on," he mouthed.

"They can't be congregating again, can they?" Sirius muttered. Harry leaned over even closer to the door frame to hear.

"I very much doubt it," Remus replied in an even more hushed tone. "They've no one to tell them where to go—who to seek out—"

"Snape _must _know something," Sirius said. "He has to know Pettigrew's whereabouts, Remus. There isn't any way he _couldn't_."

"He may not, Sirius. Don't jump to conclusions."

"I should still take Harry to the World Cup, shouldn't I?" Sirius asked unexpectedly. "I shouldn't worry?"

Harry nearly gasped. His insides swirled around like a kaleidoscope. _Oh, no_, _no, Sirius, no_, his brain desperately churned out. Ron clutched at his arm so suddenly that Harry jerked.

The small, framed painting behind Ron's head detached itself and slipped down the boy's back. Harry pushed himself away from the wall, his hand darting out to catch it, but Ron's foot was firmly planted on the hem of Harry's roomy pajama bottoms.

Harry snatched at the doorframe, but it was too late. He'd lost his balance.

It felt as though Harry were standing outside of his body, watching himself, as he slowly tumbled to the floor, catching himself on his hip; his palm smacked the wood floor with a _splat_.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, not caring that Ron's kneecap had just dug painfully into the back of his thigh.

"What—the ruddy hell?" he heard Sirius whisper, possibly to Remus. "What are you two _doing_?"

Smashing his face into his elbow, Harry groaned, mentally screaming every swearword he knew over and over. He couldn't look.

"Erm…" Ron contributed. And then he fell silent.

Harry could feel the vibration of footsteps coming toward him.

"Are you hurt?" Sirius asked from above.

Thinking quickly, Harry decided it was best to answer. "No," he finally mumbled into his arm.

"Harry, get up," Sirius said quietly. He crouched down. "Why are you lying here like a nutter?"

Barely exposing his face, Harry blinked up at his godfather. "We tripped."

"I see that," Sirius commented, curling his lips into an odd expression. He didn't look particularly angry, just perplexed. And perhaps, if they were lucky, slightly amused?

Harry could see the worn leather of Remus' shoes planted several paces behind Sirius. Strangely intimidating, staring at one's shoes… Harry was almost afraid to look up. But a second later, he felt Sirius' hands underneath his armpits, dragging him up into a sitting position. Harry winced a bit at the potential bruise on his hip.

Sirius stared at him, still holding on. "Did you hurt yourself?" he asked solemnly, his eyebrows arched high on his forehead.

Glancing briefly at Ron who was now sitting against the opposite wall, his pale cheeks flaming, Harry quickly calculated his actual pain.

"He hesitated," Remus observed.

"Then that's a _yes_," Sirius stated.

Grunting with the weight, he carefully hauled Harry to his feet.

"I'm _fine_, Sirius," Harry insisted. "It's just a bruise."

Sirius leaned over, using three fingers to press his way down Harry's hip. "Said the boy who took a shelf-full of books in the face and bled all over the place without even noticing…"

Harry tried to wiggle away. "Er…okay, that's enough. I'm really all right."

But Sirius held fast to the boy's waist, glancing up with a challenging look that made Harry settle right down. Harry bit his lip, grateful that his backside was blocking Ron's view from _that_ expression.

"Sorry," he mumbled, as Sirius went back to his impromptu examination.

"You'd better thank Merlin it's your birthday, Harry James," Sirius muttered.

Flushing hotly, Harry instantly picked up on the undertone. He stole a small glance at Remus to see if the man had caught it as well.

Crossing his arms across his chest, Remus turned back toward the coffee table, pretending to study the fabric of the armchair.

"You said we'd talk to Dumbledore together, Sirius," Harry softly reminded him when his godfather stood back up.

"No I didn't, Bub," Sirius replied, his voice even. "Now did I?"

Harry shook his head, a tiny movement.

"And you were busy playing Quidditch," Sirius continued. "You wouldn't have come in even if I had tempted you with treacle pudding and…posters of women." Sirius smirked. "Or something…"

Flicking his eyes upward again, Harry gave him a feeble smile. "Yeah, I know," he admitted.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow, okay?"

Harry glanced back at Ron, who was intently surveying the scene, and back to Sirius. Giving his forehead a final scratch, Harry nodded, looking away.

Sirius dipped his chin, searching for Harry's eyes. "All right?" he asked again, even softer.

Harry couldn't help but meet his godfather's gaze. He knew Sirius wouldn't give up until he did.

"Okay."

Smiling, Sirius swept his fingers through Harry's fringe as he took a step past him and offered Ron a hand.

TBC...

Dearest Readers: RL is kicking my butt. Forgive me. I've been working on this chapter for the longest time and was determined to finally post it, regardless how long I had to sit up tonight. I really hope you enjoyed it :-)

I must thank ObsidianEmbrace a million times over for helping me out and for her constant encouragement. Without it, I'd be sitting like a uninspired lump in front of my computer. Thank you, Tabitha.

To those of you who have reviewed and I haven't replied, I apologize. My time is being sucked away by that idiotic thing called a job. LOL. I read them all and appreciate them more than you know. So, thank you.


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter :-) I really apologize for the time taken between updates; my updating speed hasn't been on par. I know how annoying that can be to have to wait for a new chapter. ObsidianEmbrace really helped me out, as she always does with previewing and the like, but she actually co-authored two scenes in this chapter, so I owe her an even bigger thanks than usual. She and I have been trying out the tag-teaming thing during our sluggish moments; we're also working together on her story, Crucio, if you're following that one. **

**Again, thank you to those who have stuck with the story, even through the slow updates. I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Harry's eyes fluttered open; he gazed into the cloudy darkness of his bedroom with a sweaty-faced grimace. Something wasn't right.

His brain felt as though it were floating, and his entire forehead stung, the pain pulsing in waves across his hot skin. Every strand of his damp fringe felt as though it were poking into his brow like quill-points. Sucking in deep breaths, Harry eased over on his hip, clutching the corner of his pillow when his stomach suddenly twisted, soaked with nausea.

He lay very still, and closing his eyes against the ache in his forehead, he willed away the sensation to sick up. Sluggishly kicking the blankets away from his legs, Harry reached up and tentatively pressed his fingertips against his scar. The sting remained.

Harry's stomach became heavy. He couldn't take it anymore.. Flushed and miserable, he pushed himself up off of his mattress and shuffled dizzily toward the door.

A glass of water might help—or aspirin—Harry knew Sirius would have a bottle somewhere in the kitchen.

Halfway down the corridor, Harry stopped, suddenly remembering; his sweaty toes curled against the floor. He'd had a nightmare—he was almost certain. Broken bits of Harry's dream wisped through his memory like ribbons of smoke. He clutched at his forehead; it was throbbing again. This time, there was no question about it: his roast and carrots were on their way up.

He stumbled to the lavatory across from Sirius' bedroom.

* * *

Sirius, with his eyes half-closed, stumbled out his bedroom door and into the corridor, nearly stubbing his toe on a knotted corner of the frayed rug. He swore softly under his breath, realizing at the same moment that he'd forgotten his wand for light. He took a second to scratch at the skin underneath his waistband before shuffling his way toward the toilet, using the wall to guide him.

Before Sirius even reached Harry's propped-open door, he could see muted light spilling out from the under the lavatory door further down the corridor.

His brow wrinkling in confusion, Sirius paused at Harry's door. Was there something wrong with his own bathroom? Peering in, Sirius blinked a few times to allow his eyes to adjust to the soft moonlight shining in between the slight crack in the curtains. Harry's bed was empty; the covers twisted and tangled at the foot of the bed.

Nudging his hair out of his eyes with his knuckles, Sirius swung his head back toward the lavatory near the stairs and trudged ahead.

Letting the thin shaft of candlelight guide him, he stopped a few footsteps from the closed door.

Two short breaths, followed by a muffled moan from the other side of the door, had Sirius moving closer. But then suddenly, he pulled back again, grimacing sleepily at his own thoughts. _Surely Harry would have stayed in his room… _Shaking his head, and thinking that perhaps the downstairs loo would do just as well, Sirius turned toward the stairs.

No need to investigate such a thing at two o'clock in the morning.

Before he got very far, the soft squeak of a metal knob echoed in Sirius' ears, and then water was slapping heavily against the ceramic basin, splashing a few times. Sirius squinted in concern, twisting around when he heard Harry dragging in a loud, shaky breath. And then Harry muttered a few words that Sirius was certain his godson wouldn't have let loose had he known Sirius was listening.

There was a familiar scrape of the toilet seat settling, though the water was still rushing steadily.

Another soft, grunting sigh, followed by a strange, almost-whimper.

Sirius stepped back up onto the landing. Something wasn't right.

He rapped his knuckles softly against the wooden door. "Harry, are you in there?"

The spigot squeaked as the stream of water tapered into a steady drip. Harry's weak cough sounded muffled from the other side. "Yeah," he muttered.

Sirius ducked his head closer to the door, his hand gripping the end of the frame. "Everything all right?" A sudden shaky hiss of pain was the only answer. Sirius immediately grasped the doorknob, giving it a half-turn. "I'm gonna come in."

A pause.

"…'kay."

The door creaked a little as Sirius pushed it open.

He frowned when he saw Harry sitting, slumped at the shoulders, on the toilet seat, his face pressed into a slowly-dripping flannel. Harry didn't even look up as Sirius stepped in.

Sirius dropped to his knees as soon as he reached his godson, his stomach crinkling with worry; he'd never seen Harry like this. He put a hand in the middle of the narrow back. Harry's flushed skin was clammy, prickly with gooseflesh, and Sirius felt the shoulder blades contract under his touch.

"Hey, now," Sirius whispered, lightly clamping his fingers at the base of Harry's neck. "What's all this?"

Harry's wrinkled fingertips curled around the wet cloth, a few droplets plinking against his knees and bleeding into his pajama bottoms. He didn't respond.

"You all right?" Sirius tried again.

Another pause as Harry sniffed into the flannel. After a while, he shook his head. "My head hurts…"

"It does?"

Harry barely nodded. "My forehead. And my stomach."

Sirius squeezed Harry's neck comfortingly; this time, his godson didn't cringe. "Can I see that?" He reached up with two fingers and tugged at the trapped flannel.

Allowing the cloth to slip from his hold, Harry rested his temple against his damp fist, watching with bleary eyes as Sirius twisted in his squatting position and wrung the excess water of of the flannel.

"Head down," Sirius told him gently.

Harry obeyed, closing his eyes as he felt his godfather drape the rumpled flannel over his neck and apply pressure. "You didn't go to bed feeling like this, did you?" Sirius asked. "You didn't seem ill…"

"I had a really weird dream," Harry mumbled, his bowed head bobbing as Sirius blotted the cloth up and down the knobs on his neck.

"What about?"

Harry hesitated, his shoulders stiffening a bit.

"You don't remember?"

"No, I remember…"

"Mmm," Sirius absently commented, flipping the flannel over to the cooler side. "Want to tell me about it?"

Shifting on the toilet seat, Harry gave a one-shouldered shrug.

"You don't have to—"

"I heard Voldemort, Sirius."

Sirius' grip on the flannel slackened; it slipped, sending ticklish shivers down Harry's shoulder blades.

"In your dream?" Sirius clarified.

"Yeah, I think so." Harry swiveled a bit on the slippery seat, his hands still clutching his kneecaps, as he gazed at Sirius with a pinched, uncertain brow. Balling up the damp cloth, Sirius settled back into his squatting position, thinking.

"I saw Pettigrew as well," Harry continued, his feet and hands becoming sticky with cold sweat at the eerie memory, "and some other bloke I don't know. They were in a house. Someone died, I think—by a curse or something."

"Which curse?" Sirius breathlessly repeated.

"Dunno," Harry spouted, feeling shivery again. "I think it came from a wand though."

"Whose wand?"

Harry shrugged, "I just heard Voldemort's voice. And there was a light, so I thought—"

"Avada Kedavra?"

"Huh?" Harry wrinkled his nose, caught out of the dream's visual momentarily.

Wetting his lips, Sirius shifted on his toes. "It's the killing curse."

"Oh…"

"Was it a green light you saw?" Sirius asked rather gently, assuming that Harry was simply thinking of his parents. Harry's green eyes grew behind his spectacles. He nodded mutely.

His lips wouldn't seem to unstick until he felt Sirius' fingers replace the flannel. Staring over Sirius' shoulder, Harry said quietly, "Sometimes…I see Mum in my dreams…I didn't always know it was her." He swallowed noisily. "She was screaming, and then there was a green light…"

Sirius stared at his godson, at a loss to know how to soothe the vague, shining ache in Harry's eyes. "I had no idea…" Pressing his lips together, Sirius forced himself to be silent, afraid that his words might cause the shine to overflow. He let his fingers comfort instead, squeezing the back of Harry's neck gently.

With pincer-like fingers, Harry quickly scratched at the corners of his eyes and glanced away, toward the bathtub. "I haven't dreamt about that for a long time," he said with a short shrug. Sirius nodded thoughtfully, his eyes scanning above Harry's head as he tried to puzzle out some meaning in the scraps of those dreams.

He tapped his thumb against his thigh. "Maybe your mind was spinning a new scenario out of that memory." He glanced down at Harry cautiously, but his godson didn't seem to mind his probing around the dreams of Lily. Remembering uneasily Harry's recent encounter with Snape, Sirius asked, "Have you been thinking about Voldemort lately? When Snape came to-"

The dull sting erupting suddenly, Harry dropped his head into his hands, mumbling incoherently into his palms and interrupting Sirius' question.

He _hadn't_ been thinking about Voldemort…not until he'd woken up at least. He wouldn't have even mentioned the specifics of the dream, except that Sirius was making it sound like it might be important.

"Come again?" Sirius prodded.

Harry shifted the heels of his hands away from his mouth; he could see Sirius frowning through the slits between his fingers. "My scar," he muttered.

Regretting his babble of green lights and killing curses, Sirius abruptly leaned forward. "Harry, it was a horrible thing, to see your mum…" Harry was shaking his head though; his lower lip was wedged between his teeth as he rubbed his fingers over his scar. "What is it, Bub?" Sirius asked gently, his insides twisting with apprehension.

Harry sighed through his nose. He didn't want Sirius to think he was a pansy, so he tucked his hands underneath his thighs and stuck to the facts. "Do you remember when I told you about Quirrel?"

Sirius nodded slowly, puzzled by the abrupt shift in topic.

"And how when he would look at me…my scar would burn?"

Trying to keep the panic from his voice, Sirius asked carefully, "Is it burning now?"

"It was," Harry told him quietly, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment, "…when I woke up. It hurt so much it almost made me sick up," he admitted. "I didn't remember the dream until I was almost to the loo…" Harry trailed off.

Sirius gaped at him for an instant, and then reached over and cupped Harry's cheeks in his hands, pulling him forward and tilting his messy head to the side as he studied the innocent-looking pink scar etched into the pale skin.

"It doesn't hurt anymore, Sirius," Harry informed him.

But his godfather was barely listening. He slid his thumb beneath Harry's fringe and carefully pressed it near the scar, as if he were having his prints taken.

Harry stared at Sirius' eyebrows, as he had nowhere else to look. "It usually just itches sometimes—"

"Who was the man Voldemort killed in your dream, Harry?" Sirius demanded, abandoning his gentle poking. Harry tried to pull his face back a bit, and after a ponderous moment, Sirius realized his godson's silent plea for release and complied.

"I dunno who it was," Harry said with a shrug. "Honest." The skin of his arms felt icy; Harry clutched at them, hugging himself to warm up. "I'm sorry."

"No, no," Sirius said quickly, reaching out again and rubbing his warm hands up and down Harry's bare shoulders. "Don't apologize," he added softly. "You're shivering. Does your stomach still ache?"

"No." Harry shook his head.

Sirius sighed in agitation. "This is ridiculous," he suddenly growled under his breath, still rubbing.

"I wish I knew who it was—"

"No, I mean—not you, Bub," Sirius corrected, flashing him an apologetic look. "I meant this whole situation."

"What situation?" Harry asked, confused.

"_This_," Sirius stated, looking over Harry's shoulder and shaking his head, "…being left in the dark like this by Dumbledore and…_whoever_ else." Sirius' jaw was tight. He spewed out another sigh.

"What do you mean?" Harry muttered, confused. "You said that Dumbledore told you about Snape…and how he's been trying to locate Pettigrew. Even Dumbledore said Snape was a bit off because of it."

Sirius shook his head again. "No, it's not just Pettigrew," he explained. "Albus has been…more _peculiar_ than usual—"

"How can you tell?"

"Oh, I can _tell_," Sirius assured him, leaning in close to inspect the small scar once more, giving Harry's forehead a final thumb-smoothing. "He was rather quiet on your birthday."

"He's always quiet," Harry argued.

"Somber, then."

Harry stared at his godfather, unsure how to respond.

Sirius sat back, meeting Harry's sober gaze with his own. "Your scar shouldn't be hurting like this," he said quietly.

"It doesn't anymore, though," Harry nearly whispered, his eyes skittering over Sirius' face, wishing his stomach would stop tensing.

Perhaps noticing Harry's unease, Sirius' face softened. "C'mon. Let's get you back to bed," he said, beginning to stand and reach forward in order to help Harry up and prevent a dizzy spell.

"No _way…_" Harry pulled away. "I can't go to bed _now_," he insisted. "I won't be able to sleep anyway, since we're leaving for Ron's in a few hours."

"I'm hardly concerned about the World Cup right this instant," Sirius said, a bit taken aback at his godson's unexpected defiance. "If we're delayed, we're delayed. You need your sleep—"

Harry's mouth fell open dejectedly. "You _promised_, Sirius! You told Mr. Weasley we could go!"

"I know that—"

"But I'm fine!" Harry persisted, more terrified of the possibility of missing the Cup than anything else. "Please, Sirius, I _swear_ I'm all right. I'm not lying."

"I know you're not," Sirius said gently. "Now, let me finish—"

"Dumbledore knows what he's doing," Harry interrupted, undeterred; his voice was growing more desperate by the second. "He'd tell you if something was—"

"_Stop_," Sirius cut him off. He pointed to the toilet. "Sit down."

"I _am_, Sirius…"

"Your bum is barely touching the seat," Sirius pointed out. "Sit."

Harry sat. He suddenly felt very foolish over his brief bout of Quidditch insanity.

"Now, listen," Sirius said calmly, taking hold of Harry's forearms. "_You_ are all I care about at the moment, and it's unfair for _either_ of us to prioritize a Quidditch tournament over your safety. Do you hear me?" Sirius' face was taut and stern, but his thumb trailed back and forth over Harry's wrist in silent comfort.

Biting his lips together, Harry fought against the childish tears of disappointment that threatened to flood his vision. Deep down, he knew Sirius wasn't trying to ruin their trip. He knew his scar stinging this intensely was cause for concern. Something was definitely up with Dumbledore; Harry _knew_ that.

But for once, he didn't care. He didn't want to worry about it. He wanted to go to the Quidditch match with Sirius the way his primary schoolmates had gone to cricket matches with _their_ parents. It wasn't fair.

Harry dipped his chin, unable to look at Sirius. He knew better than to complain anymore than he already had—it wasn't Sirius' fault that he'd had a bad dream and a weird scar that twinged.

Swallowing hard, Harry pushed away all potential arguments. "Yeah, I hear you."

Pausing for several long seconds, Sirius took deep, quiet breaths, glaring at the toilet as if he were planning to kick it over.

"Dammit," he finally swore under his breath.

Harry glanced up, unable to resist. "What?" he croaked.

Running his palm down his face, Sirius sighed. "I've had enough."

"Enough of what?"

Sirius pinned Harry with a determined look in his eyes. "Go put a pajama top on and climb into bed. I've something I need to do, and it'll only take a bit."

"What is it?" Harry wondered.

Pulling Harry up with him this time, Sirius steered his godson toward the corridor. "I need to go to Hogwarts, and you need your sleep—"

"Oi!" Harry exclaimed, twisting around. "I'm coming too—"

"You're _not_," Sirius disputed easily, prodding his heavy-eyed kid toward the open bedroom. "If you want to be worth anything when we leave for the Weasleys, you'll need to rest first."

Harry dug his heels into the rug, but the pressure on the small of his back was adamant. "I'm fourteen, Sirius!"

"So what?" Sirius challenged. "I'm twenty years older than you are, and even _I_ know when I'm exhausted…"

"But I should go with you!" Harry said, gripping the doorframe when they reached his bedroom. "It was _my_ scar that was hurting—I'm the one who had the dream. _I_ need to be the one to tell him, Sirius."

Letting his hand drop from Harry's back, Sirius stared at him.

"I hate not knowing things," Harry muttered, watching his own big toe as it stabbed at the doorframe. "It makes me feel like an idiot."

Sirius scraped his fingers through his hair as he shifted into a slumped, sympathetic stance. "I know how you feel, Bub," he said genuinely, "but I knew quite a lot at your age—too much actually—and it made me a bit cynical. My parents never cared enough to protect me from hearing such things—"

"About Voldemort?"

"About Voldemort,' Sirius nodded in agreement. "About who my parents _really_ were….and other things."

Harry chewed on his lips.

"I suppose I just…." Sirius gave him a weak, sad smile. He sighed and then glanced away. "I only want to protect you from becoming bitter at your age—not keep you in the dark to make you _feel_ like a child. I wouldn't do that." He looked up. "It wasn't my intention to _ever_ do that."

"I know," Harry said quietly. "It's just…when you tell me things—like when you told me about Snape trailing Pettigrew—I don't get scared the way I used to when I had to find things out on my own."

"You don't?" Sirius echoed with a subtle lift of his brow.

Harry shook his head slowly, feeling rather stupid, but he continued nonetheless. "It kind of makes me feel better when I hear it from you." He stared at his jabbing toe again.

An evocative silence passed; Harry kept his eyes on the wood.

"All right, then," Sirius finally murmured, brushing by Harry's shoulder and stepping into the shadowy bedroom.

Turning to follow, Harry listened to the scraping and shuffling of drawers as Sirius quickly found what he was looking for. A clean hooded sweatshirt flew into Harry's face; he caught it before slid down his torso.

"Put that on," Sirius instructed determinedly. "Are your trainers downstairs?"

"Yeah…" Harry couldn't help but grin as he maneuvered his head and arms into the cool sweatshirt. "Want me to grab them?

"No, we'll get them when we go downstairs," Sirius said, guiding Harry back into the muted lamplight of the corridor, fixing the folds of his hood along the way.

Harry's stomach tingled with excitement. He couldn't believe Sirius was letting him come; he was without a doubt the most reasonable parent in the world.

"You're certain you feel all right?" Sirius asked him when Harry was laced up and jiggling his knee impatiently in the middle of the kitchen.

"I promise."

"You need the loo?"

Harry shook his head. "Huh uh."

Sirius nodded toward the sitting room. "Let's go, then."

* * *

Heart thudding, Harry drew in great gasps of air after he felt the soles of his trainers smack against the stone floor as he was spat out of an unfamiliar Floo. Sirius held him fast around the ribcage.

"You're still dizzy, aren't you…" Sirius said, his voice full of regret. He smoothed Harry's fringe to the side, still holding onto him with one arm across his chest. "I knew you should've rested instead."

Harry swallowed through the dryness in his throat. "I'm still not very good at Flooing. I'm fine, though—" He paused, catching a glimpse of their murky surroundings. "Hey, Sirius, we're not…" He twisted around in his godfather's arm. "I thought you said we were going to Hogwarts."

"We _are_ in Hogwarts. It's not Dumbledore I want to see."

Harry flipped his head around, his stomach jolting with realization.

Clutching Harry's wrist and pulling him close, Sirius rounded the corner with his godson in tow. Without hesitation, he pounded on the thick dungeon door of Snape's chambers.

TBC...

* * *


	35. Chapter 35

**Previously: **

**_"Hey, Sirius, we're not…" He twisted around in his godfather's arm. "I thought you said we were going to Hogwarts."_**

**_"We are in Hogwarts. It's not Dumbledore I want to see."_**

**_Harry flipped his head around, his stomach jolting with realization. _**

_**Clutching Harry's hand and pulling him close, Sirius pounded on the thick dungeon door of Snape's chambers.** _

_

* * *

_

_"_Are you _mental?"_ Harry whispered frantically; he jerked a handful of his godfather's sleeve to get his attention.

"It's likely," Sirius responded, staring straight ahead as he gently plucked Harry's fist away from his shirtsleeve. "Just stay close; it'll be all right."

"That's not what I'm worried about-"

Sirius pounded Snape's door three times, pinching a handful of Harry's shirt and pulling him back a bit at the same time.

"What are we _doing _here?" Harry groaned quietly from behind. "You're gonna kill each other…"

"It's all right," Sirius repeated.

"How is _that_ all right?"

Muffled shuffling sounded from the other side of the thick door. The movement paused for an instant, and then Harry heard several consecutive clicks before the door creaked open the tiniest of cracks.

Time seemed to have frozen, hovering over their heads.

Harry sucked on his bottom lip, holding his breath as he waited. And then suddenly, the door flew open, banging noisily against the wall. Stumbling back a bit, Harry slapped at his hip, his defenses at the ready. But his shirt lay flat against his side; he'd forgotten his wand at home.

Sirius caught Harry by the arm before he could go anywhere and pulled him behind his own body; he gazed, nearly cross-eyed, at the thin, black wand, now suspended less than a centimeter from his nose.

Snape's hair was disheveled, clumped and greasy; he stood rigidly, fully-robed from collar to boots.

It was more than obvious that he hadn't been asleep.

"Get your wand out of my face," Sirius said quickly, holding both palms in the air. "I'm unarmed."

"I don't believe you…" Snape's voice was quiet and gruff; his lips were barely moving. He carefully flicked his hair out of his eyes with a subtle jerk of his head.

Startled, Harry could only stare.

"See for yourself," Sirius challenged, his stance unchanging, his voice even.

Snape's wand wavered a bit, but it stayed right in front of Sirius' nose. Harry listened as Snape chanted something that sounded like "_Revalo_ wand" with a couple of extra Latin words which Harry didn't recognize.

Nothing happened. At least from what Harry could see, having been sequestered behind his godfather…

Snape wetted his lips, his eyes intense.

"Harry doesn't have his wand either," Sirius told him, giving Harry's arm a little nudge.

Thinking that perhaps Sirius really _had_ gone barking mad, Harry pulled a brief expression of incredulity, his brow furrowed, nostrils slightly flared. But he cautiously stepped out anyway.

Snape's eyes immediately zeroed in on him, his eyelids shrinking to slits as he glared, scowling distastefully at Harry's sweatshirt and pajama bottoms. Harry blinked in surprise as Snape's wand suddenly snapped in his direction; the professor repeated his spell.

Again, nothing.

"See?" Harry demanded rather mockingly, losing his patience—marveling at how Sirius had held off for so long. He made a face again, this one sourer than the first. "Why would we waste time lying to you?"

Did Snape honestly think they'd come in the middle of the night to attack him? Sirius wasn't a bloody idiot. Snape was only paranoid. Harry drew in another breath, about to continue on in that vein, until he felt Sirius' fingers tighten a bit around his forearm. Harry glanced up at him; Sirius gave him a small shake of his head.

"Watch yourself, Potter," Snape rebuked, out of habit it seemed; he turned to Sirius again, sparing no further glares for Harry.

Sirius' lips pressed together at Snape's curt order, but he said nothing, simply pulling Harry closer back to his side. Snape smirked cynically, at the paternal gesture, most likely; Harry felt like saying something nasty, but he kept his teeth clamped together.

"What do you want?" Snape finally asked, his wand still clutched tightly in his fist.

"I need to talk to you." Sirius gave the crack of air between Snape and his quarters a pointed look. "In private," he added quietly.

Snape's eyebrows rose. "I take it you ended up in the wrong corridor?" he suggested disdainfully. "Albus' office is upstairs."

"I can't speak with Albus about this," Sirius said quietly. He took a deep breath. "I need answers—"

"I care very little about what you _need_, Black," Snape murmured, still glaring.

Harry gritted his teeth, swallowing back the stinging resentment that coated his throat.

"It's about Voldemort," Sirius nearly muttered.

The blunt explanation immediately caused Snape's face to darken. His sharp features went very still, the way they always did right before he assigned detentions—to Gryffindors, in particular.

"What could you possibly need to know?" Snape demanded, though the volume and clarity of his voice had dropped significantly.

Sirius sighed softly through his nose. "It's important," he said soberly, meeting Snape's gaze straight on. "Not to you, perhaps, but-" He paused, exhaling again.

Harry watched as Sirius ran his fingers over one eye, sliding his palm down his cheek; his godfather looked very tired. Sirius' other hand gently squeezed Harry's forearm again. Feeling somewhat guilty, Harry fixed his eyes upon the fingers encircling his arm for the briefest of instants and then glanced down at the floor; he knew it was useless to apologize—he knew Sirius would never accept it. Not about this, and not about the throbbing pain in his scar. Even if Harry knew this was _his _problem. He had tried to tell himself that over and over as he lay dizzy with pain and nausea only an hour before. But he knew Sirius would never accept that either.

"I only need five minutes," Sirius said, gazing pointedly at Snape once more. "And then we'll leave."

Harry glanced up suddenly, sensing the deep, charcoal stare burning into his forehead, but Snape slid his gaze away when their eyes locked. After a furtive look over both of Sirius' shoulders, Severus snapped his wand arm back, so that the ebony stick between his fingertips was parallel to his body. He stepped abruptly back into his quarters. He didn't open the door any wider, but neither did he slam it in Sirius' face.

At his godfather's slight look of alarm, Harry realized that Sirius hadn't really planned this meeting. For some reason, that made a lot of stupid things Harry had done over the years seem loads better all of a sudden.

As if Sirius understood Harry's thoughts, he smiled just the tiniest bit, subtly vaulting his eyebrows. Inhaling a quiet, preparatory breath, he put his arm on Harry's closest shoulder blade and together, they stepped inside Snape's quarters.

"Do not sit," Harry heard Snape mutter—he _thought _that was what he heard, anyway; Harry was hardly paying attention.

Harry blinked as he tried to adjust his eyes; it was even darker in here than it had been in the dungeon corridors. He'd been in Snape's office twice, but his private quarters looked different somehow—old fashioned and dim, as though everything was sheathed in a deep mahogany. The air smelled faintly of shoe polish…and old carpet, Harry decided.

Strange, that.

On either side of the fireplace hung two, weakly-lit candles behind foggy glass containers. The single log resting against the clumps of black ash and broken bits of wood was streaked orangey-pink with the heat that threatened to fade out at any second.

Harry's arms were cold, even underneath his hooded sweatshirt; he clutched at the worn cuffs and ran his knuckle along the edge of a shelf on the bookcase next to the hearth; he glanced down, expecting to see a thin stripe of dust along his pale skin; there was none.

Sirius had moved away a few steps from Harry and was standing awkwardly next to an armless, wooden chair; Harry could see its badly scarred legs, even in the scant light.

"You needn't have brought the boy," Snape sneered from across the room. He stood rigidly next to a small, wobbly desk in the corner, strewn with stacks of creased paper and ink-stained quills. "Get your hands off my possessions, Potter."

Quickly jerking his fingers away from a drawer that was cracked open underneath the built-in bookcase, Harry caught his godfather's eye as Sirius glanced back at him; he tucked his hands further back into his cuffs. "I wasn't nosing," Harry nimbly explained, not sure who to focus on.

"Come stand next to me," Sirius said softly, with a brief tilt of his head.

Without giving it much thought, Harry obeyed at once.

Severus' jaw pulsed once, the ghost of some peculiar emotion passing over his features, and then he smirked, pursing his lips. "Obviously the topic of discussion isn't vital enough to exclude a child—precisely as I figured—or is it that Potter needs minding 'round the clock?"

Harry's face grew so instantly hot that the skin of his cheeks burned. "I'm not a _child_…I don't need minding." He nearly choked on the words; it was all he could think to say. Harry looked up at Sirius, waiting for the retaliation—the follow up—but it didn't come; his godfather merely stood there, straight-faced.

Harry licked his lips, waiting, his chest tightening with the peculiar tension.

The wrinkle over Snape's nose deepened; he wasn't smirking anymore. "What_ is_ it?" he demanded, his tone clipped, yet hushed.

Sirius eyed the two closest chairs, but still, he remained standing, and glanced partially over his shoulder in Harry's direction. "His scar," Sirius began, rubbing a few absentminded fingers over the faint lines in his own forehead. "Harry woke up in a great deal of pain only an hour ago—"

"Pain…" Snape echoed, frowning; the acidity in his glare could have peeled paint. "What sort of pain, Potter?"

Harry looked over at Sirius, searching for any sort of reprieve from the fierceness in the professor's stare. Mutely, Sirius nodded, urging him on.

"My scar burnt," Harry tried to explain. He nibbled on his lip, feeling babyish—whinging over a little pain.

But Snape's expression was stagnant. "Burnt?" he probed. "What do you mean, _burnt_?"

Harry curled his toes inside his trainers; he shifted. "My whole forehead was aching—I mean it's better now," he assured them both, sparing yet another glance at Sirius, "but my scar felt like something was stabbing it—"

"You'd nearly sicked up when I found you in the lav," Sirius reminded him.

"Not exactly…"

"Yes," Sirius interrupted rather firmly, "you had." He reached over and brushed back a thin curtain of Harry's fringe with his fingertips to inspect the salmon-tinged scar. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I'm _not_ ashamed, Sirius," Harry insisted, unconsciously furrowing his brow a bit as he tilted his head away from Sirius' examination.

His godfather folded his fingers up, tucking his fist into the crook of his opposite elbow. Harry quickly glanced away from the half-skeptical, half-exasperated _look_ Sirius was giving him.

An agitated sigh broke the short stretch of silence. "What does all this have to do with—_Potter_, _look at me_—"

Harry looked.

Sirius smoothed his own hair back this time, his teeth clenching.

"What does this have to do with the Dark Lord?" Snape demanded, his dark eyes glimmering alternately at both of them. "I see no connection. If this is simply about the boy's pain, you've missed the hospital wing by two floors, I'm afraid—"

"Why would I come to _you_ over my kid's pain or illness?" Sirius spat, unable to hold back any longer, though he kept his voice quiet. "I wouldn't expect you to give a damn."

Harry winced a bit, scratching at his fringe; Sirius beginning to swear meant nothing good.

"Precisely," Snape sneered, his expression twisted with disgust. "The first valid point you've made thus far."

Sirius swore again; bowing his head, he drew in a deep, composing breath. "Forget answers. We don't need this," he muttered, pivoting a bit toward his godson. "_You_ don't need this; it was foolish to come—"

"And yet here you are," Snape cut in, stiffening. "Don't be an idiot, Black. You sought me out for some reason."

Harry's underarms began to tingle with sweat. Sirius _had _come here for a reason—his godfather didn't do anything without a purpose. Asking for Snape's advice would be one of the most pride-crushing and valiant things Sirius would ever do; Harry understood this. And Sirius was doing it for _him_. They couldn't just leave.

Impatiently, Sirius threw his loose hair out of his face, ready for further rebuttal, but Harry snatched at his godfather's elbow. "Don't," Harry whispered. "Just let me tell him."

Sirius breathed thickly through his nostrils, searching Harry's face. "This was a mistake," he whispered back. "We'll figure it out."

Harry squinted at him, apologetically, but turned toward Snape anyway. "I dreamt of him, Professor—of Voldemort—"

"Do _not_ say his name, Potter," Snape snapped.

"Sorry," Harry quickly muttered. He rubbed at the corner of one eye, feeling awfully weary. "I hate saying 'You-Know-Who'; it's stupid…"

"If you're tired, you can sit," Sirius said, pushing on Harry's shoulder, ignoring Snape altogether. "It's very late, you know."

"I'm okay…"

"No, I want you to sit," Sirius told him, sliding his hand under Harry's armpit now and applying southward pressure.

"Sirius…"

"_Sit_."

Harry plopped down; he dug the pads of his fingers into his eye sockets as he slumped down, suitably embarrassed.

"You're looking grey again…"

"Enough of this," Snape suddenly snapped. "Enough wasting my time."

Sirius gawked at him, his face flushing. Harry peeked up from over his hand.

"Get out," Snape ordered dismissively.

"What?" Harry croaked.

Still staring, Sirius' throat rippled with a clumsy swallow. Shaking his head knowingly—mostly to himself—he sniffed once and reached for Harry's arm.

"No," Snape repeated, "leave the boy."

Kindling from the fireplace hissed and popped.

Like hell…" Sirius rasped. Harry could see the pulse below his godfather's jaw line. "It's perfectly fine if you'd rather not hear us out, but you'll not browbeat my godson—"

"Fool," Snape spat; a look of revulsion washed over his face. "You desire answers, yet you can't contain your childish inanity for longer than a minute. How very like Dumbledore you are... Can't allow the boy to even relate his woes without your constant cosseting."

Harry had no idea what the word meant; even Sirius looked confused through the dark anger on his face.

"What the hell are you on about?" he asked irritably.

"You have no idea," Snape spat venomously, "of the danger you're in." A cruel, superior smirk branded his features. "Do you, Black?"

Sirius stared, his face frozen; Harry's chest seemed to crumple, like wadded paper.

"Did you even _think_ to wonder why Albus has insisted on such drastic measures to conceal your residence? The wards…the deep woods…the cabin planted out on the moors of Scotland? The boy must have told you by now that it was I who insisted you cease with your little romp down memory lane. And yet, you have failed to even ask me why…" Snape was sneering at Sirius now.

"I _spoke_ with Dumbledore-" Sirius began indignantly, though his lips were clumsy; he fumbled over the words. Harry could see his godfather's fingertips, unconsciously, yet frantically rubbing against his thumbs.

"Albus Dumbledore will tell you nothing except riddles," Snape interrupted contemptuously. "_Riddles_, Black. What did he say when you told him that the two of you sought after an adventure at your childhood home? A place where a known Death Eater once resided? Did he once mention where _I'd_ just come from? Did you even think to _ask_? Or were you too worried that I'd bruised your delicate, little godson?" he demanded.

Sirius' eyes snapped to Harry at that; Harry pinched his lips together angrily at being labeled as _delicate_, but still flushed hotly, his scalp tingling when he remembered that he'd left out that little tidbit.

"Still," Snape spat, "_still_ you avoid the most obvious question!"

Sirius turned back to Snape. His jaw was pulsing. "Where _had_ you come from?" he asked, barely moving his lips; Harry had to strain to hear him.

Snape waved his hand dismissively. "You have wasted enough of my time."

Sirius clenched his fists at his sides. "Tell me," he said quietly. "If you know something about my godson, you've no right to keep it from me."

Snape smiled grimly, as if he had been waiting for Sirius to demean himself. "No one has kept anything from you, Black," he murmured. "You live a life of denial—of false security. The answers are right in front of your face."

Sirius blinked, nibbling on a corner the inside of his lip, just barely, as he mentally struggled to crack the code.

Harry's heart thudded against his ribs; he'd never seen Sirius look so vulnerable.

"Haven't figured it out still?" Snape mocked, his voice lofted, his face impassive; he hadn't once spared a glance at Harry. "Pity," he continued with a twist of his lips. "It seems that while you and your _godson _were on a scavenger hunt through the past, the remainder of the Dark Lord's followers were plotting the boy's death."

Tingles ran up and down Harry's spine; his face felt hotter than ever. In the dream, Voldemort had spoken of his death—of seeking him out to kill him. But he hadn't told Sirius this—Harry had related _most _of his dream to his godfather. But not this.

He listened to the sticking sound of Sirius' dry swallow; Harry waited for his godfather to say something—anything—but still, he remained silent. Staring at Snape with an almost juvenile helplessness.

"Harry Potter has always been in danger, Black," Snape continued quietly in his deep drawl. "His life has _always_ been threatened by the Dark Lord's rejuvenation." He sniffed, still scowling. "The boy nearly killed himself over _you_. And here you stand, demanding any sort of _secret_ information on your godson—to preserve his _safety_… " He shook his head slowly, almost sympathetically. "You pathetic _fool_," Snape hissed. "Safety for Potter has never existed."

The hearth crackled once again, spraying dust-like sparks into the chimney.

Snape glowered at Sirius, who continued to stand rigidly—his arms dangling heavily by his sides.

Harry pierced his teeth into the soft insides of his lips to keep from screaming every swearword he'd ever learned. Of course his safety was insecure; he'd lived with the Dursleys for twelve years. And of course his life had been threatened—even more so since he'd begun his schooling at Hogwarts. He wasn't supposed to have lived as a baby; he knew this.

But to have Snape spit the raw, uncensored reality in his godfather's face with so much vile—so much hatred…

His godfather—who had put so much effort into providing a normal life for him…

Harry nearly gagged on the swelling sensation in his throat. It was all he could do to drag his feet over to where Sirius stood.

Glancing up, Harry swallowed and tugged at his godfather's sleeve. "Sirius?" His voice cracked.

No answer.

With both hands, Harry took hold of Sirius' forefinger and pinky; he tugged again, lightly.

Finally, Sirius tore his eyes away from the area beyond Snape's face that he'd fixed his gaze upon. Mouth pressed tightly together, he raked his eyes over Harry's nose…his cheeks…his chin, and back again, before curling his fingers around the smaller thumb.

Wordlessly, Harry dropped one of his hands, allowing Sirius to clumsily enfold the sweaty fingers of Harry's other hand within his own.

Harry could see Snape in his peripheral vision, could see the movement of his chest as he breathed in and out; he knew Snape was looking at him. But Harry wouldn't look back. Instead he let Sirius guide him out of Snape's office, apathetic of the fact that his godfather was still gripping his fingers as though Harry were a child.

TBC...

* * *

**A/N: Sorry it's been so long. Teaching has kept me busy and, you know...Decemeber...exams...(general sluggishness), etc. As always, thank you for your encouraging and helpful reviews. I haven't been very good about replying; sorry about that. I do read them all and appreciate them greatly :-) **

**I owe Tabitha (ObsidianEmbrace) a huge thank you for keeping my spirits up and helping me out with revising and finalizing plot...and for helping me out with Snape, especially, in this chapter. He was being a complete nuisance and required more than one severe butt-kicking. ;-)**

**This story is very close to being finished. Two more chapters, including an epilogue, will follow, and then that'll be it. I've truly enjoyed writing this story, so thank you again for keeping me encouraged. **

**I know it's been a while, so if you have any questions (I don't expect you to go back and skim for answers...lol) please, ask me, and I'll be sure to help you out. :-)**

**Have a wonderful holiday!**

**~Jade**


	36. Chapter 36

"We don't have to go…"

At the mumbled statement, Sirius lifted his eyes up from the fraying rug below his feet. He studied his godson. Harry sat slumped against sofa's backrest, his chin hanging on his chest as he picked absently at his cuticles. They'd been sitting this way for a quarter of an hour, even though it was well after twelve o'clock in the morning.

"Go where, Bub?" Sirius wondered.

Harry drew his feet up to tuck under his thighs, still worrying at his thumbnail, his eyes glazed over. "To the Cup…" he muttered after a bit.

Sirius sighed as he planted his chin against his palm, eyeing his sullen kid for another moment. Harry blinked idly without looking up.

Pushing himself out of his favorite armchair, Sirius ambled over toward the sofa and lowered himself next to Harry; the boy sagged against him for a second when the cushion dipped but quickly shifted his shoulder blades against the backrest to readjust.

"Now, what's all this?" Sirius queried in a gentle voice as he draped his forearm on the sofa above Harry's head. "Three days ago, you nearly bounced off of the ceiling when you saw those tickets."

Harry gave a weak, one-shouldered shrug. "You said we shouldn't put a Quidditch match over our safety—"

"No," Sirius corrected, "I said I wouldn't prioritize a Quidditch tournament over your well-being."

Harry glanced up slightly, furrowing his brow at the fuzzy scroll pattern of the rug. "That's the same thing, Sirius," he murmured, fighting to sustain his deadpan expression, though Sirius had pinpointed the dullness in his green eyes as the troubled sort.

Sirius skimmed his gaze over the top of the head of wayward black hair. "No it isn't…"

"I don't get it," Harry said, sustaining the small, confused frown. "How is that different?"

"It's _different_," Sirius replied, turning a bit to lean against the armrest, "because I was concerned about how you were feeling—you looked awfully ill."

Harry's chin sank low, his eyes traveling to his loosely laced fingers again. "We shouldn't go, Sirius—"

"Hey…"

Harry let the back of his head fall against the couch; he sighed.

"Come on, look at me," Sirius urged softly.

Lazily rolling his head toward his godfather, Harry focused, rather bleakly, on Sirius' nose.

"What did I just say the other night?"

"Which night?" Harry wondered as he poked his fingers underneath his glasses to rub the tightness out of his eyes.

Sirius took hold of the wiggling nosepiece and slipped the small spectacles away from Harry's face. "The night you told me about Snape—you're in your bed in five minutes, by the way…"

"I will be," Harry agreed, taking his glasses back and sliding them securely on his nose with a fingertip. "You mean the night I told you about Snape at Grimmauld Place?" he clarified.

"Yes, that night," Sirius affirmed. "Do you remember what l told you?"

Harry thought for a few seconds. "That you were the biggest wally in the world?" he guessed. He gave Sirius a groggy half-smile before propping his cheek against his fist and leaning the side of his head into the backrest.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "No, what else did I say—before that?"

Harry gave a slow swipe at his nose with the back of his hand as he sorted through that night's conversation. "That I'm not to worry about anything…" he tried again.

Sirius nodded. "That you're not to worry," he echoed approvingly, "about _anything_. And I meant it."

Glimpsing up at the solemn gray eyes, Harry knewhis godfather meant it. He'd known it then.

Harry straightened up again, loosely hugging his knees, his gaze trained on the faded plaid material stretched across his kneecaps. "I know you meant it, Sirius, but I still can't help being scared about some things," he muttered. "I know it's stupid, 'cause it was a dream, but my scar burning really worried me."

"Being scared over _that_ is not stupid one bit," Sirius assured him. "It's a very normal reaction; I was terrified when I saw you sitting there all pale and sweaty." He expelled a heavy breath. "Now, going to _Hogwarts_ was stupid on my part. I acted on impulse…it was foolish—"

"I don't think it was."

Sirius gave him an appraising look, watching as Harry picked at a piece of fuzz sticking to his pajama bottoms.

"I mean," Harry shrugged, considering, "Snape told you what you wanted to hear, didn't he?"

The midnight wind hummed against the brief silence.

Sirius pressed his lips together, studying his godson's bowed head quietly, but only for a moment. "Snape's bile was directed at no one but me, Harry," Sirius began. "He didn't mean what he said—"

"Yeah, he did," Harry interrupted, his voice becoming a bit croaky. He glanced up now, eye-to-eye; cool air tickled the moistness pricking his palms; he wiped them on his pajamas. "Voldemort wants me dead, Sirius—he's always wanted me dead since I was a baby—but he still wants that now…I heard him say it."

Sirius' eyes twitched at the corners, though his expression remained relaxed. "In your dream, you heard him?"

Sliding his knees closer to his chest, Harry wetted his lips, nodding weakly. "Yeah…"

"You saw him as a _person_ in your dream?" Sirius pressed, leaning in.

Harry shook his head, squinting behind his glasses. "No," he said, rubbing beneath his eyebrows with a forefinger and thumb. "It was like I told you before…"

"Just a figure, then?"

Nodding, Harry leaned his temple against the sofa-back again. "A small one. Kind of distorted, really. I can't describe it. It freaked me out enough to wake me up, though…"

"But it had Voldemort's voice?" Sirius shifted against the stuffed arm behind him.

Harry nodded into the cushion, his fringe fanning up on one side.

Sighing through his nose, Sirius pressed his knuckles against his lips, thinking.

"Going to Hogwarts wasn't all that stupid, then, was it?" Harry mumbled tiredly, watching Sirius' lids rise and fall in measured blinks.

"Dragging you along with me was very stupid," Sirius disagreed from behind his fist. "I made a mistake." His hand fell to his thigh, like an axed tree.

The wind was whistling through the moors now, but Harry ignored it. He curled his trapped toes against his thighs. "It's all right…" Harry quietly declared.

"No," Sirius said resolutely, still shaking his head. "It's not. I've made too many of them…"

Harry blinked, staring; he wanted to tell Sirius just how many mistakes _he_ had made over the past three years, but he couldn't find the words.

Sirius flicked his eyes away, swallowing; Harry waited, feeling awfully anxious for no reason at all. But Sirius didn't say anything either. He simply gazed back, his eyes clouded; his lips curved with the scantest of smiles.

Gawking for a few seconds longer at his godfather's peculiar expression, Harry finally cleared his throat. "Do you want to hear about my dream again?"

The second hand of the hanging clock ticked like a heartbeat over their heads.

"_Sirius…_"

"Hmm?" Sirius inhaled densely as he refocused.

Harry licked his lips again; they felt wrinkled against his tongue. "Should I tell you about the dream again?" he nearly whispered.

Sirius shook his head, looking very sure of himself now. "No."

Harry scrunched up his nose. "How come?"

"Because," Sirius told him, "it's well past your bedtime, and you need your sleep." He gave a commanding twitch of his head. "Come on; I'll go up as well." He made to stand, but Harry grabbed a handful of his shirt.

"Wait!" Harry's voice cracked. "You're leaving it at that?"

Settling again, Sirius tilted his head. "Leaving what?"

Harry gave his godfather a skeptical squint. "Oh, _come_ on, Sirius…"

"No," Sirius countered, pushing against the sofa with one hand and reaching for Harry with the other, "_you_ come on…literally."

"People want me _dead_, Sirius," Harry said, hunching up his shoulder to tug his arm away, "and you're sending me to bed as if nothing's wrong?"

"Now just listen a moment—"

"We can't just blow it off and act like everything's all right!" Harry exclaimed. "That's what Dumbledore always does…and McGonagall…and even Hagrid sometimes. And he wants you to do exactly what everyone else does. Don't you see—"

"All right," Sirius interrupted smoothly, "that's enough."

Harry pressed his molars together at the placid demand, flopping back against the backrest with a nasal sigh.

"No," Sirius said, snaking a hand behind his back to straighten him up, "none of that, now, I want you to listen to me. Please."

"I'm listening…"

"You're not," Sirius argued. 'You're whinging."

"I'm—" Harry began, but at the elevation of his godfather's 'told you so' eyebrow, he squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed a few fingers against his forehead. "Okay, sorry, I'm listening now." He dropped his hand.

Sirius raised his other eyebrow.

"_Really_," Harry promised softening his pre-whinge expression. "I am, Sirius. I'm just…frustrated."

"Which is _exactly_ why I need you to listen to me," Sirius said calmly. "All right?"

Drawing in a deep, silent breath, and releasing it just as slowly, Harry nodded.

A loose smile crept crookedly across Sirius' face. "You've just turned fourteen."

Harry tilted his head, giving his godfather a _look_.

"And, yes," Sirius said quickly, "you're right; we've established many times that you're only fourteen…"

Harry knitted his brows together at the utterance of "only", but he kept quiet.

"So _you're_ fourteen, and I'm…" Sirius glanced up at the ceiling, "…thirty-five?" He peered back down at Harry. "Really?"

In spite of himself, Harry strained his lips against a grin.

"All right, then," Sirius continued. "So that means I'm twenty years older than you—"

"Twenty-one…"

"_Oi_," Sirius quipped in mock-annoyance, his index finger hovering above his godson's nose. "You're _listening_, remember?"

Harry's nostrils flared with subtle amusement. "Go on, then."

Nodding once, Sirius glanced down at his hands, running the pad of his thumb along one of his own knuckles; his smile faded. "I've seen quite a lot in those twenty years, Bub." he murmured.

His own amusement quickly on the decline, Harry's eyes flickered carefully over his godfather's face, aware, all of a sudden, of the tiny things…like his own blinking. His own breath tinkling against his upper lip. His fingers rolling the fabric at his ankle into a tight twist…

Sirius peeked up suddenly. "Do you believe me when I say that?"

Harry nodded slowly.

"I've seen Voldemort at his worst," Sirius continued, looking soberly at Harry. "I've seen Dementors suck the lives out of wizards who might not have even deserved it. Who might have had wives and children."

Clutching the hem of his pajama bottoms, Harry sat very still.

"I've seen…" Sirius bowed his head again, picking at the knee of his own trousers now, "…I've seen more than I want you to know about, really."

Harry's tongue was dry. He felt like an idiot just sitting there on the sofa, his legs folded into a loose pretzel, holding onto his pajamas. But for once, he didn't know what to say.

Sirius gave a short, almost silent chuckle to himself, but his eyes remained stormy and grave. "I know what it's like to feel as though everyone knows your life inside and out…even more than you know yourself."

Harry pressed his teeth into his bottom lip.

"I also know," Sirius went on, "how it feels to be scared…or confused. Or _frustrated_," he added just for Harry, "when you feel like no one understands or cares…like no one's on your side." Once again, Sirius' gray eyes impaled Harry without intention. "But there are a lot of people on your side, Bub. _I'm_ on your side. And Remus is on your side…and whether you believe it or not, Dumbledore wants only what's best for you," Sirius told him, elevating a reassuring eyebrow when Harry started to make a face. "He wants you to be happy. He's worked very hard to keep the _both_ of us happy…and together."

"I know," Harry finally murmured, feeling rather sheepish for some reason.

"That's all _I _want…"

Harry meant to nod, but he wasn't very successful; he swallowed noisily instead.

"Taking you to Hogwarts tonight was irresponsible," Sirius reemphasized. "I made a mistake, and I'm sorry for that."

Harry was confused; it wasn't as if he'd learned anything from Snape that he hadn't already known. But he knew an outright denial of this would be pointless. Considering his godfather's words for a moment, Harry scratched at his fringe, tucking his feet more tightly under his legs. "But why was it a mistake?" he couldn't help but ask.

"It just was, Bub," Sirius said, easing the wrinkled portion of sleep pants out from Harry's fist. "Between the two of us, I'm the one who will take care of anything worrisome. And this was one of those things."

Harry's brows smashed together. "That doesn't make sense…"

Shrugging in an offhanded style very much like Harry's, Sirius gave his godson a flicker of a grin. "It does to me."

Harry thought about this. "So what am I supposed to do, then?"

"Do what you always do…"

"Like what?"

"Like drive me completely mad with your questions…"

Harry smiled. "I don't either, Sirius." He yawned through clenched teeth.

"Here's something you can do," Sirius said as he stood, pulling Harry up with him. "Go to bed. We'll talk more about this in the morning."

"Can I sleep down here?"

Sirius gave him a funny look. "What for?"

"I like how the fire sounds…"

"Your blankets are upstairs."

"I'll go get them—"

"No, it's all right," Sirius cut in, his palm splayed against Harry's chest to keep him from bolting into the kitchen. "Settle in." He summoned a pillow and quilt from Harry's bedroom while his godson stretched out on the sofa.

Harry promptly squirmed onto his side once the blanket was tucked up under his armpits. He burrowed his head into his pillow and yawned again. Squatting down beside him, Sirius rested his hand on Harry's hip for a moment.

"Let me keep your glasses on the kitchen table so you don't accidentally step on them if you have to go to the loo," his godfather offered, folding down the frames with his thumb when Harry immediately handed them off. "I'll be up at five to make coffee; do you want to sleep for a bit longer or do you want to get up with me?"

Harry pulled a squishy clump of pillow away from beneath his cheek. "We're still going, then?"

"Of course," Sirius said quickly. "I said we were, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but—"

"But what?"

Blinking sleepily into his pillow, Harry shrugged. His stomach had already begun to tingle with excitement again, and his forehead didn't sting in the slightest. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice reassured him that they'd be fine. And even if something did happen, Harry knew, somehow, that Sirius would take care of it.

"Nothing," Harry muttered after a moment. "What time do we have to meet Ron's family?"

Sirius pulled the covers a bit more snugly under Harry's arm, and twisted around on his toes to dim the lanterns with a quick flick of his wand. "Six."

"I'll just wake up with you, then…"

"The smell of coffee will probably be what wakes you up." Another flick of Sirius' wand, and a small log floated over to the fire, sending up a shower of sparks into the chimney as it nestled between the burning sticks of wood.

"You know what we should've done?"

"What, Bub..." Sirius tucked his wand away, and shifted in his crouch position, listening.

"We should've dyed our hair red," Harry mumbled groggily, sleep threatening to smother him. "Then we would've looked like Ron's cousins or something. No one would stare at us…"

Chuckling softly, Sirius reached over to brush a lock of dark hair away from Harry's ear. "You'd really look like your mum then, wouldn't you?

Harry's lips tilted at the comment. Pressing his nose into his pillow, Harry's eyes slipped closed; the pile of dead wood hissed and crackled behind them in the fireplace.

TBC...

* * *

One more chapter, folks. (Sniff) Hope everyone had a lovely holiday break! Mine was....short. :-)

As always, I truly appreciate any and all feedback, constructive criticism included. Thanks for all of the wonderful reviews from Chapter 35.

Next up: the World Cup... What _would_ Harry look like with red hair?? ;-)


	37. Chapter 37 & Epilogue

The sky was rosy, with the thick stretch of orange sun blazing over the tops of the trees and bleeding into the clouds; the air was warmer now as well, heavy with dew. Harry's skin was beginning to feel clammy underneath his jacket, but he was too busy scanning the hundreds of carts and vendors scattered along the grass to care.

Children, nearly two heads shorter than Harry, darted around the legs of grown-ups who were standing around in clusters, laughing and clapping hands on friends' shoulders; the high-pitched squeals of four-year-olds mingled with the clashing sound of Irish flutes and several brassy-sounding instruments. All the noise was an unintelligible blur to Harry, like the dull roar of his primary school lunch room, but he wasn't bothered in the least; he was too excited. And there were too many new things to gawk at.

Smoke curling off of burning logs seeped into Harry's nose, but it wasn't unpleasant, as it mixed with the scent of roasting meats stabbed on skewers and the sweet smell of fresh butterbeer sloshing over the rims of sticky, finger-printed mugs.

He was a bit hungry, but he wasn't ready to eat yet. Besides, Harry knew that Sirius would be steering him toward a reliable-looking food vendor before the match started whether he wanted to or not. After all, he'd barely gotten down his oatmeal and cream this morning, thanks to the overactive butterflies swarming around in his stomach.

But there was still plenty of time for that. The music, laughter, and the smell of sizzling food and sugar-sprinkled sweets wafting about the air were intoxicating.

Suddenly catching sight of the bundles of glimmering, color-changing streamers attached to the outside of a wooden booth, Harry smiled to himself. He moved closer to see the sign hanging slantways underneath the jutting tabletop; he bent down to read it:

_Can't decide where your loyalty lies? _

The paint glittered and faded, a new message bleeding onto the wood; Harry blinked in surprise, and then squinted, reading:

_Chudley Cannons this week… Appleby Arrows, next?_

Harry's eyes widened a bit; he remembered reading about the Appleby Arrows in _Quidditch through the Ages_. It had _been_ ages since he'd read that book, but he couldn't forget the small paragraph he'd read about the game that had gone on in 1932, when the Arrows defeated the Vrasta Vultures in a sixteen-day match. Bloody exhausting, it must have been…

The message was fading again and a new one appeared:

_For only 15 sickles, you can root for all your favorite teams!_

Someone was prodding Harry between his shoulder blades, but he shrugged the sensation away, squinting, again, at the new set of letters fading in:

_Buy a jar of Jemima Cristoff's Color-Changing Face Paint today! _

"Brilliant…" Harry muttered through a small grin as his eyes traveled over the small jars full of peculiarly clear, gelatin-like paint; he dug his hand into his jeans pocket for the leather coin purse Sirius had given him.

Harry and his godfather had Apparated to the site three hours ago, and thankfully, the dizziness from _that_ first experience had diminished almost completely; he had been too keyed-up to give it much thought, even though Sirius had insisted that he take a minute to sit and clear his head before they hiked the rest of the way with the Weasleys.

Before they had left the cabin, Sirius had given Harry twelve galleons worth of spending money to buy anything he wanted from the vendors—well, _almost_ anything. According to Sirius, the firewhiskey cart was off-limits. In his giddy, rather daring state, Harry had made certain to mention such a purchase. In return, Sirius had made certain to guarantee a complimentary warmed arse with each pint the boy tried to order.

Giddiness waning, Harry'd abandoned the prospect quite swiftly.

"C'mon mate, I'm _hungry_," an impatient voice shook Harry's concentration.

"Hold up," Harry barely mumbled, recounting the handful of galleons spread across his palm. "One galleon will buy a jar of this, won't it?" He could feel Ron fidgeting behind him. A hefty sigh from his friend fluttered the locks at the base of Harry's neck.

"One galleon'll buy a whole basket of fish and chips…"

Still going over the arithmetic in his head, Harry jutted an elbow towards Ron's knuckle which was poking at him again. "Get off," Harry complained with a frown. "I'm trying to figure this out—"

"You're trying to starve me to death, that's what you're doing," Ron huffed.

"It's not even ten o'clock yet!"

"So?" Ron retorted. "What of it? That's only two hours away from lunch…"

"I _said_ I'd come with you," Harry reiterated. "Just hold on—damn!" One of the golden disks had slipped through his fingers while he was trying to count and fell into the grass below; Harry stooped to get it, bumping into Ron's legs as he crouched down, combing his fingers through the damp grass to search for the galleon.

Spotting it, Harry picked it up, slowly straightening as he blew off a few bits of grass and dirt. All of a sudden, Harry felt a kneecap nudge him in the backside, nearly sending him toppling. "Hey!" he cried, leaping forward a bit to catch his balance.

As Harry got his bearings straight, Ron grinned at him. "Whoops. Sorry, mate."

"Yeah," Harry muttered, frowning; he gripped the galleon in his palm. "No problem…"

Ron's smile instantly fell when he caught the vengeful gleam in Harry's eyes, but before he could slink away, Harry thrust his arm toward Ron's chest and shoved him.

"Oi!" Ron exclaimed as he stumbled.

"Goodness me!" a chalky voice squealed in alarm.

This time, Harry's eyes grew as round as overcoat buttons, his own mischievous grin on the immediate fade. He swallowed, grimacing guiltily when he noticed the elderly woman clutching her husband's arm as she straightened her green robes with a huff, smoothing a piece of hair back into her silvery bun.

Ron stood frozen, gaping at the old man and woman who were now gliding in the opposite direction, muttering indignantly about the blatant naughtiness of young wizards these days…

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, even though he knew they couldn't hear him. He scratched at his hair, still squinting.

Making a rather quick recovery, Ron smirked as he watched Harry tangle his fingers into his fringe. "You look really strange like that, you know."

"You _are_ strange…"

"No, I mean, your hair—"

"_Ron_," Mr. Weasley called from behind. He was standing between Sirius and the twins, who were grinning rather derisively. Ginny and Hermione trailed behind, sipping bottles of butterbeer and pointing out to each other every other booth that they passed.

Ron flipped his head around at the summons. "Yeah?"

"Come here for a moment," Mr. Weasley said. Harry pressed his lips together, hoping against hope that no one had seen the old bat nearly fall face-first into the grass. But Mr. Weasley looked neither angry nor jovial.

Sighing, Ron obeyed, jogging back to where his father stood; Harry watched closely, sinking his teeth into the insides of his lips when Arthur gently pulled Ron aside; Ron's eyes quickly trailed to the ground. The twins snorted with glee and ran forward, almost clouting Harry across the forehead; good thing he'd ducked.

"Now, Ronnie," Mr. Weasley began, speaking softly into his son's ear, who had tucked his chin to his chest, his hands stuffed into his pockets, "you know what we talked about…" he trailed off.

Harry smiled to himself. _Ronnie_. He couldn't wait to pull that one out when Ron least expected it. His amusement was short-lived, however, when hardly a second later he caught sight of Sirius' expression. His godfather began to move forward, past the Weasley clan.

"Oi! Fergus!"

_Shit_, Harry thought, cramming his fists, galleons and all, into his own pockets. But then, suddenly, he glanced up, making a face. _Fergus_? he mouthed in disgust. Harry glanced around both shoulders, certain that Sirius was speaking to someone else.

There was no one.

Sirius raised an innocent eyebrow as he strode over to where Harry was standing, looking very different with a shortened crop of dark ginger hair on his head, but Harry noticed right away that Sirius' eyes were still the same. Gray and tranquil, like kitten's fur.

"What's with the face?" Sirius queried, his nostrils flaring in silent hilarity.

Harry gawked up at his godfather in disbelief. "What's with the _face?_" he breathed incredulously. "More like what's up with that _name_!"

Sirius' shoulders gave a subtle bob as he bit back a chuckle. "What, no good?"

Mouth hanging half-open now, Harry nearly snorted. "You're joking, right?"

"Am I?" Sirius said with a shrug, rocking back on his heels as he peeked over his shoulder at a small child who'd just brushed against his knee hollows as he ran past squealing. The boy's mother caught him with a Levitation spell, holding him against her chest and speaking sternly in his ear while his little legs kicked.

"Sirius…"

"Hmm?" His godfather flipped his head back around at the whispered summons. Harry was giving Sirius quite the _look_.

"Of _all_ the names you could've chosen for me, you chose _Fergus_?" Harry complained in a hushed voice, wrinkling his nose. "Fergus_ Weasley_? It's bloody _foul_—"

"It's my own godfather's name…" Sirius glanced over his shoulder again.

Harry's mouth froze mid-whinge. A hawker's scratchy drawl bellowed from behind, filling up the stretch of conversational silence.

"Oh…" Harry murmured after a moment, his eyes finding a dirt patch; he swallowed slowly, feeling a bit stupid as he peeked up. "Is it, really?"

"No." A slow smile spread across Sirius face; he winked, and then chuckled for real this time. Harry rolled his eyes, hardly amused.

"Although," Sirius continued, scrunching up his face and digging into his pockets as he spoke, "your friend Seamus has a grandfather with that name…on his mum's side. He went to Hogwarts with your granddad, I think."

"Doesn't make it any more brilliant—"

"_Oi_," Sirius muttered through gritted teeth, reaching his arm around Harry's neck and pulling him forward for a good-natured poke in the side.

Unable to help himself, Harry let out a short cry of laughter as he tried to dodge it, his voice cracking.

"Quite the mouth you've got today..."

"Only today?"

"Good point," Sirius commented through a half-grin as he pulled out his own coin purse out of the front pocket of his trousers and began wiggling his fingers into it. "You still look like a 'Fergus' with that hair…"

"Yeah, well, you look like—"

Sirius cut him off, calling out to Ron who was sauntering over in slow motion. Harry turned as well; he gave a slight sigh of defeat, carefully nudging his _Disillusioned_ glasses back up on his nose so it wouldn't look noticeable. Sirius had taken some time to get that particular spell just right…

"What were you two getting ready to buy?" Sirius questioned, as he stared down into his own palm to count a small pile of coins. "You know…before that poor lady nearly died of fright from being ploughed over." He glanced up at Harry with a hint of admonition in his raised eyebrows.

"Dunno," Ron shrugged, his hands still buried in his pockets. "Harry was the one who wanted to buy that cold cream—" He expertly dodged a forearm to the chest, laughing.

Harry scowled at his friend, wiggling his wrist free of Sirius' rescuing grasp. "It's color-changing face paint to root for a bunch of different teams, you tosspot…"

"_Hey_, now," Sirius interrupted in a rather strained voice, as if he were holding in a laugh; he planted his palm on the top of Harry's head, who was still glaring at Ron, as he continued to jiggle-count his money, one-handed. "You've cashed in your blasphemy bank for rest of the year, just so you know…"

Ron sniffed amusedly.

"I don't even know what that means," Harry mumbled sourly. "Don't act like you do, Ron."

"Sounds good, though," Ron said through a chuckle.

"All right," Sirius interjected, giving Harry's mop a fond ruffle. "Go get your paint. Look," he nodded toward the motley booth, "it's almost sold out."

"We can share one," Harry suddenly piped up, as if the small tiff never occurred. "C'mon, Ron." He stuffed the rest of his coins back into the miniature leather satchel as he moved forward.

"And then we'll get a bite to eat," Sirius called after them. "You barely swallowed a thing this morning…"

Harry rolled his eyes, but nodded anyway as he and Ron queued up behind a girl with dark-brown braids hanging down her back.

He'd known that was coming.

_**

* * *

**_

_**Several Hours Later….**_

Sirius sat hunched, perched on the corner of Harry's bed, the mattress slanted with his weight; his forearms rested like sandbags against his knees as he stared.

It had all happened so fast. Too fast. As if the exhilaration of the match had never taken place.

The music, the excited shouts…Harry's ecstatic beaming as he gazed out at the thousands of faces hovering in clusters around sparkling advertisements—all of it smeared in Sirius' memory, like a watercolor painting left out in the rain…

The minutes ticked by as Sirius sat there.

It was nearly two in the morning, now. And still, Sirius watched his fourteen-year-old sleep. It had taken quite a while—two glasses of milk, a warming charm…and finally, a bit reluctantly on Harry's part, a brief neck rub, until Harry's heavy lids had slipped closed and remained. It always worked eventually. Being fourteen now, Harry liked to think that it didn't; Sirius knew better.

Harry breathed evenly now as he lay on his side, his quilt-covered shoulder rising and falling, rising and falling.

Sirius continued to watch him, gazing down at his hands every so often. He sat very still, breathing quietly so he wouldn't disturb Harry's deep slumber.

He'd been so foolish. So naïve to think that he could keep his kid from seeing the bad things—from knowing them, even.

Sirius had seen the look of terror and confusion that had flashed across Harry's face, not for himself, but for the family floating above their heads—for his friends who'd been ordered to remain in the woods while the men in masks lingered threateningly, their skull faces the color of frozen flesh.

Thinking about it made Sirius feel ill. But the memories of the past several hours continued to surface, swirling sickeningly about his thoughts:

_The smoke curling like ribbons into the night air; the shrill screams of children and panicked shouts reverberating into a single, horrifying clamor. _

_Harry's hand, slippery with sweat, clutching Sirius' own wrist as they sprinted blindly through the ink-blotted woods together._

_His ordering the rest of the Weasleys to remain where their father had told them to hide, ignoring his godson's protests as he attempted to tug Harry in the opposite direction._

_Harry's pleading._

_His own panicked scolding amid his godson's threatening defiance._

_The weak struggling…_

_Sirius' loss of patience…_

_The tiny moment of shock, on both their parts, after the quick, unplanned swat; the sharp pain in Sirius' stomach immediately following as Harry stared at him with flushed cheeks…_

_His eventual compliance…_

Sirius swallowed, gazing down at his hands again. He had apologized to Harry for losing his temper earlier. He hoped that Harry really _had_ understood, like he said he had.

He glanced back toward the sleeping bundle again. Harry's breathing was deeper now.

_He'll sleep in tomorrow_, Sirius thought; the tight feeling in his chest eased slightly. He'd be careful not to clang pots and pans around as he made coffee in the morning.

As a baby, Sirius suddenly remembered, Harry had always slept soundly in his crib—his soft, little fist moist and burrowed under his nose, his bottom in the air. Sirius remembered how James would pull the old oak rocking chair right next to his son, wedging his hand between the painted slats of wood to stroke the downy black hair that stuck up, like a duck's tail, at the top of Harry's head.

Thirteen years later, a thicker shock of black hair protruded just so. Even now, it peeked above the folded blankets.

Sirius' expression softened a bit as he studied the streaks of paint that still striped Harry's cheek, faded now to a mint-green; the soap Harry had used in the bath must not have been much help in scrubbing.

_It's okay_, Harry had said quietly to Sirius as he ran a towel through his wet hair. _I think Ireland's my favorite team now, anyway_.

The mattress creaked as Harry grimaced weakly in his sleep, for only a second, and then his cheeks drooped again as he relaxed back into a deep sleep.

Without warning, a quaffle-sized lump suddenly lodged against Sirius' Adam's apple; wet warmth flooded his eyes more quickly than it ever had before.

It wasn't fair. Nothing was.

He had told Harry over and over that it was all right to be frightened—that he didn't have to put on a brave face, especially not after tonight. But Sirius knew, more than anyone, that Harry's stoicism was a part of James that he would always retain, whether Harry knew it or not.

The child-like honesty, however—the vulnerability in those green eyes—that quality, alone, belonged to his mother.

_He's really taken to you, Sirius, _he remembered Lily saying to him_, over thirteen years ago. She had been watching Sirius as he sat on the floor against the foot of the sofa, the baby clinging to his middle like a monkey, while he stroked the base of Harry's small neck and mumbled soothing nonsense into his ear._

Sirius sniffed, almost silently, attempting to swallow down the thickness in his throat.

Lifting his shoulder to his cheek, he gently swiped at the lukewarm tears that continued to leak down his face, even though he hadn't made a single noise.

He tugged a bit at the bedclothes, covering the bare toes that had slid out from under Harry's blanket; Sirius laid his hand over the boy's ankle and kept it there, but Harry didn't stir.

Sitting quietly, Sirius allowed the tears to drip off of his chin for a while.

In only thirteen years, too much had been lost. Harry's first words… His first loose tooth… His first trip to Platform 9 ¾… Sirius couldn't get any of it back.

He had only known Harry for two months, and people were already telling him that his godson's life was in danger. That _safety_, he remembered Snape saying, _safety _for his child had _never existed_.

Sirius swallowed, wiping once more at the tears that were drying on his cheeks as quickly as they had appeared. He gave Harry's ankle a gentle squeeze as he gazed out at the moon-washed curtains.

All of a sudden, Sirius' throat burned with determination; for the first time in his life, he felt more certain of himself than he ever had before.

He would never miss another milestone.

He had taken Harry on his first trip to the seaside, and he would take him again, maybe before school began next week, Death Eaters or not. He had purchased Harry's first Quidditch set, and Sirius would learn to play again, so Harry could practice—he wasn't yet forty, after all.

Harry had yet to have his first girlfriend…or his first shave…or his seventeenth birthday.

And Sirius would be there for all of it.

**The End.**

* * *

**A/N: Wow, I can't believe it's over. Thank you, everyone, for reading :-) Thanks for sticking with me and for the encouragment over the past year and a half. This story is really close to my heart, and it's been overwhelming to learn that so many of you feel the same way. **

**A sequel is plausible. I have even managed to plan one out, for the most part, with the help of ObsidianEmbrace...my faithful friend (and occasional beta) who has truly kept me going, even on the toughest days, with her enthusiasm. Does this sound like something you guys would be interested in? A continuation? My plan is to begin writing my sequels during the summer, since I'll be off work for a few months. Would you still read, even if you had to wait a while?**


	38. Sequel Notice

**Sequel Notice**

I've begun the sequel to this story, Starting From Scratch: Part II. The prologue is now up. Hope you enjoy!


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